


The Workshop

by kateyes085



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Dark, Domestic Violence, Dubious Consent, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Verbal Abuse, Violence, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2017-12-30 20:59:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kateyes085/pseuds/kateyes085
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agron and Nasir are college students who meet for the first time when they both enroll in an acting seminar where they are cast as the leads in an experimental two-man play dealing with domestic violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shouting Out Loud](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/29947) by blynnk. 



~*~

 

Agron checks the room number on the door against the one on the crumpled printout of the schedule he had in his hand and heads inside. He instantly sees a handful of people that he knows – Donar, Lugo and Saxa – sitting near the back corner of the room with a bunch of other guys from the football team. They wave him over.  Agron smiles and obediently heads back to the chair next to Donar. 

 

“Dude, what kind of gay shit do you think they’re gonna have us do?  If it’s lame, I’m totally dropping this stupid workshop. It’s not worth the damn credits, I’ll just take ceramics or something and make a couple bongs for my creative elective requirements,” Lugo grins stupidly when a bunch of the other guys laugh in agreement.

 

“God, you’re such an asshole,” Saxa mutters. 

 

Agron rolls his eyes at Lugo, shifting away from the football goons and closer to Donar and Saxa.  “Hey,” he mumbles in greeting to them.

 

“Hey, Aggie. So you too, huh? Didn’t know you were signed up for this class,” Saxa says.

 

“Yeah. Thought it’d be fun, and I used to act some--a little bit-- kind of,” Agron trails off.

 

“Well, Lugo and the others back there might be in for a surprise,” Donar smiles conspiratorially, speaking under his breath. “The guy that runs the drama department’s a complete hard-ass. Supposedly, he’s really good.  So, yeah, totally not a class you can coast through.”

 

“Why, Donar!  My heart would just break into pieces if Lugo drops this class. To think we would just miss out on his glowing insight each and every week,” Agron replies sarcastically in a deep southern drawl as he fans himself and bats his eyelashes.

 

“Not to mention the habitual mocking when we do actually have to perform in front of them,” Saxa adds.

 

“Christ, I didn’t even think of that,” Donar says, rolling his eyes, and glancing over his shoulder at the guys in question.  They are too busy laughing at various people in the room, including the oddest of the bunch, the guy by the front door.

 

The three of them turn to look and see a short guy trudge through the door.  He is wearing dark eye makeup and ill-fitting black clothes.  He takes a seat by the exit in the front. He clearly stands out in a room half-full of college kids; most of them are still dressed in their pajamas and look like they just rolled out of bed five minutes before class started.  The only exception was maybe Agron’s group, which are wearing neat, expensive, and slightly preppy clothes. Agron looks him over curiously.  He can see the room’s dim lighting glint off of the guy’s piercings.

 

“So who’s that?” Agron asks Donar and Saxa, jerking his head towards the little guy.

 

“Who?” Donar asks frowning and looking around.

 

“The short guy in the front,” Agron clarifies.

 

Donar shrugs, saying, “Um, Nasir?  I think?  Total art freak, man.”

 

“Then what’s that make you? A dumb jock?” Saxa scowls at him.

 

“I guess. Either way, it’s better than being an art freak,” Donar smirks at her and yelps when she smacks him in the back of the head.

 

The professor walks in, nodding to a few of the students that he recognizes, Nasir, the art freak, being one of them.  He walks up to whiteboard and scrawls his name in large looping letters.  “I see we have some old faces and some new ones here as well. Welcome back to those of you who I’ve worked with before, and to those who I haven’t, be afraid--be very afraid,” he smiles darkly.  Some of the people near the front of the room giggle nervously.  The teacher paces from one end of the room to the other with his arms folded in front of his chest, surveying the students in front of him.

 

“My name is Lucius Caelius.  This is an _acting seminar_ and is not by any means a class you can breeze through mindlessly to fulfill a requirement. It’s going to be challenging work, and I will expect a full commitment from anyone taking part,” he smirks at the chorus of groans. “This is also not your typical acting class.  It is an experimental theatre workshop dealing with controversial subject matter.  It explores the idea that anyone can do theatre.  First, I should warn that if you are going to be a diva, get out now.  Keep in mind, every acting class should be considered Acting 101. If you think you’re too good to work with a beginner, this isn’t the place for you.  Second, if you have a problem with not-so-PC topics, leave.  And, finally, if you are not willing to give me everything you’ve got for the next few months and are just here for the credits, there’s the door.  Don’t waste my time,” he tells them as he rounds the corner of his desk and sits down.  “Just form a line here and I’ll be happy to sign your drop forms, and you can be on your way.”

 

“Told ya,” Donar whispers to Agron and Saxa, as they watch most of the guys from the football team, including Lugo, standup and walk to the front, slinging their bags over their shoulders as they go.

 

As Lucius signs their forms, Agron leans over to Donar and says, “Well, that cleared the room.”

 

After the ten to fifteen students around Mr. Caelius get their forms signed and have left, there are less than twenty people left in the room.  He sighs dramatically and rubs his hands together. “That’s better. I’ve found that it’s always best to get that out of the way first. For those of you still interested, this workshop will be focusing on controversial social issues. We’ve commissioned some amazing short plays by a handful of up-and-coming playwrights who are eager to have their work shown in a public venue, and you lucky few get to perform in them.  So the first thing I’m going to have you do is fill out these questionnaires and tell me a little about yourselves; your major, what you’re interested in, what you’re hoping to accomplish through this seminar, etc., and I’ll use your responses to cast you in the various roles. There will be no auditioning.  It will all be decided by the mad, genius residing in my own little noggin,” he states tapping his finger to his temple with an evil grin. 

 

The papers get passed around and a hush settles over the room as everyone concentrates on filling in their answers.  Agron looks down at his sheet and writes down the first things that comes to mind as he does. Major: Criminal Justice. Extracurricular activities: None. Previously football (has since left the team). Personal goals for this seminar: To explore my fascination with acting and human psychology within a group dynamic. Previous experience with acting: Four years of high school drama club, including some performances where I was cast as the lead actor. Some community theatre. Is there anything you would object to doing as part of a performance (i.e. full or partial nudity, portrayal of a character with a different sexual orientation than yourself, personal objections to portrayal of violence, controversial topics, religious or political topics different from your own, etc.): No.

 

After about twenty minutes and everyone taking their completed questionnaires up to the front of the room, Lucius tells them, “I’m going to need a few minutes to sort through these and assign you your parts.  I’d like you all to take out a sheet of paper and tell me your thoughts regarding the merits and perils stemming from the exploration of controversial topics in a public forum such as a university.” 

The sound of rustling paper and bags being unzipped fills the air, and Agron bites thoughtfully at his lip as he decides on his response, tapping his pen restlessly against his notebook.

 

~*~

 

A short while later, Lucius begins reading out the names of people in the room, assigning them to different groups, handing each one their scripts, and directing them to choose a corner or space to sit together in. He gets almost all the way through the names, including Donar and Saxa’s, who are in a group together, leaving only himself, that Nasir guy by the door, and three other people still left unaccounted for.

 

“Agron Martin, you’ll be playing Rick in _No One Hears My Screams_ ,” Lucius announces, holding out a script as Agron stands and makes his way to him.  He takes the script from the professor.  Lucius gives him a small knowing little smirk that makes Agron nervous, and he then continues down his list, “Nasir Hossain, you’ll be playing Jesse in the same play. It’s a two-man play, so it will just be the two of you in your group.  It’s probably the toughest one of the bunch, but I think you’ll both enjoy it and find it challenging.”  A few minutes later after everyone moved into their groups, Nasir and Agron find a seat in the left front corner of the room.  Neither looks at or acknowledges the other.  Lucius looks over the class and advises them, “I don’t want you looking at the scripts right now. Don’t worry about your parts or what your particular play is about. We’re going to do an exercise first in order for you to get to know each other a little bit better, and to see how observant you all are.”

 

Agron sees Nasir paging through his script out of the corner of his eye and frowns disapprovingly at him, and then just keeps staring as he notices and elaborate tattoo that is peaking out from beneath the sleeve of his black t-shirt.  “Can I help you?” Nasir snaps a little defensively.

 

 _Eyeliner?  Piercings?  Tattoo? Take your pick_ , runs through Agron’s mind, but all he mutters is, “Nothing, man. Sorry.”

 

The professor calls for their attention and says to the five small groups scattered around the room, “Now that you’ve all been assigned your roles and your plays, we’re going to do a little Get-To-Know-and-Trust-Your-Partner exercise. I want you each to find a partner in your group and examine them. See what you can deduce about who they are, about their traits and qualities just from looking at them. You are allowed and encouraged to touch each other as well, but don’t get fresh. You’ll have five minutes to find out as much as possible about this member of your acting group as you can without any talking. And then you switch. When everyone’s done, we’ll go around the room and share what you’ve discovered.”

 

There is a small rumble of nervous laughter and chatting as everyone in the larger groups start to look for a partner. Agron is slightly relieved that this is not an issue for them. 

 

“Ready? I’m going to set my watch…” Lucius says.

 

“You can go first,” Nasir tells him, standing with his hands at his sides, just like half of the rest of the people in the room are doing.

 

“Oh! Um, ” Agron says, standing and nervously scratching the back of his neck and head.  He catches himself and shoves his thumbs in his back pockets.  “You mean…check you out?”

 

“Yeah,” Nasir agrees with a smirk watching Agron squirm awkwardly. 

 

“Alright class? Your five minutes start…now,” Lucius tells them.

 

“Okay,” Agron mutters to himself as he faces this strange little man.  Agron tries for the least creepy way possible to proceed.  He decides to start with Nasir’s face. He looks him up and down.  He thinks Nasir has to be damn near a foot shorter than him as he is around six feet, four inches.  As Agron studies the other man’s features, he startles a little when he notices how Nasir is just staring back at him.

 

Clearing his throat, Agron tries to concentrate and count Nasir’s piercings.  He has an ornate wooden piercing in his left earlobe, gold stud in the cartilage of the same ear, and a small hoop in his right eyebrow.  The eyeliner brings out the rich darkness of his eyes.  His hair is tied up in a messy knot on the top of his head.  His gaze wanders downward over his rumpled baggy clothes.  He finally notices Nasir’s hands.  He tentatively takes hold of one wrist and mumbles quietly, “Sorry,” as he presses their palms together and mutters, “Jesus.”  Nasir blushes slightly when he sees how Agron’s large hand engulfs his own.  Agron smirks at Nasir’s response.  He can see the miniscule, multicolored splatters on the black of his clothes and reaches out to touch them. As his fingertips scratch over the paint, he can feel how surprisingly firm Nasir’s pectoral muscle is.  He pulls his hand back so quickly it looks like he was burned by the contact.   Agron catches a distinct whiff of tobacco smoke and cinnamon...gum or mints?  “Hmm,” he hums, as he observes something else about Nasir’s attire, and files it away.  Agron finds himself taking hold of Nasir’s right hand, running his finger over the tattoo he saw on the webbing between his index and thumb.  He traces the design with his finger, and then reaches and traces the bottom of the tattoo on his forearm.  He follows it up and looks at Nasir for permission who nods slightly focusing on remaining still.  Agron raises Nasir’s sleeve and gently traces the intricate design the all the way up to the top of his shoulder. 

 

He glances up at Nasir, who’s still watching him closely, and with clear amusement as Lucius proclaims, “That’s five minutes! Time to switch!”

 

“My turn,” Nasir smiles.

 

“No fair. You’ve been staring at me the whole time,” Agron protests.

 

“Why do you think I let you go first?” Nasir retorts. Biting at his bottom lip, Nasir looks intensely over Agron, who feels suddenly trapped and very exposed.  Nasir starts right away, not seeming nervous or shy at all. Cupping his hand under Agron’s chin, Nasir tilts his face down and studies his eyes. Agron blinks at him, defiantly staring right back. The shorter man’s gaze drifts upwards, over his stubbled chin and cheeks, down along his neck. He releases Agron’s chin and instead fingers at the cord around his neck, tugging on it and pulling out the charm that is strung on it, revealing what had previously been tucked carefully away in Agron’s shirt.  Tensing visibly as Nasir turns it in his fingers.  Agron tries to focus on not snatching it away from him, so he takes a few steadying breaths and forces his eyes away. Nasir lets go of it after a moment, and takes Agron’s hand in his. He turns it palm up and runs his fingers gently over it from wrist to fingertips, and then flips it back over, looking closely at his nails.

 

Moving on, he walks around behind him and Agron shivers involuntarily when he feels Nasir raise up on his tiptoes and touch the back of his neck, pulling down on the collar of his shirt. Agron tries to turn his head around to look and see what he is doing back there.  Nasir only gives him a wide-eyed, faux-innocent look, pushing the tag back into his polo shirt.  

Just as he is turning his head back around, Agron jumps and yelps with laughter as Nasir grabs at his waist just above his hipbone, and Agron twists immediately out of reach.  “Ticklish?” Nasir laughs.

 

“Hey! That’s not cool. I didn’t grab you did I…are you ticklish too?”

 

“Shh…no talking,” Nasir scolds him with an elegant finger pointed to his lips to cover his mischievous smile. 

 

After another minute or so, the professor calls for them to take their seats and starts to go around the room, asking people to say what they have discovered. When it is Agron’s turn, he says, “Nasir is about five feet, seven or eight inches?  He has brown eyes and three piercings.  He exercises but he smokes and likes cinnamon.  He has a tattoo that covers most of his left arm and a smaller one in between his pointer and his thumb that looks like a misshapen hook.  And, I think he might be an artist because he has paint splatters on his clothes.”

 

“Very good, Agron,” Lucius tells him, and he tries not to squirm at the way Nasir is eying him sideways from his chair. “Nasir, what did you find out about Agron?”

 

“He wears contacts, but his eyes are naturally that ridiculous color green.  He doesn’t do manual labor and wears designer clothes.  He wears a necklace that’s very important to him, and he’s extremely ticklish.”

 

“Excellent Nasir,” Lucius says, and moves on to the next group.

 

“And it’s six, by the way, not three,” Nasir says quietly to him.

 

“Excuse me?” Agron responds.

 

“My piercings,” Nasir clarifies.

 

“You have three more?  Where?”

 

“That’s a rather personal question,” he says evasively. “Hey, did you see what our play is about?” Nasir says changing the subject. 

 

“No. Why, did you?” Agron asks. 

 

“Yeah,” Nasir says.

 

“Well?” Agron pushes insistently.  Nasir smirks mischievously.  “Is it that bad?” Agron says, growing worried and pulling out his script.  He flips hastily through it. As he skims it, his eyes get progressively wider and the blood completely drains from his face, “Oh my god,” he mutters. 

 

“Gonna be an interesting couple of months huh,” Nasir remarks, raising his eyebrows at him.

 

“Understatement,” Agron mumbles, rubbing away a headache that’s forming at his temples.

 

~*~

 

“So what’d you get?” Donar asks, as they throw their bags onto the dirty, carpeted floor of their apartment and Agron flops backwards lengthwise onto the couch.

 

“You go first,” Agron says, rubbing both of his hands over his face.

 

“Aww, is Aggie embawassed about his pway?” Donar mocks going to the fridge, and popping open a can of soda.

 

“Asshole,” Agron growls.

 

“Mine is about racism and prejudice,” Donar says matter-of-factly, sitting down at their small kitchen table and opening his bag, pulling out his books and notes.

 

“Jesus,” Agron swears, propping himself up on his elbows, “Seriously?”

 

“Yeah. Good times,” Donar says sarcastically. “So? What’s yours?”

 

“Domestic abuse,” Agron mumbles.

 

“But it’s just you and that art freak guy right?”

 

“His name is Nasir,” Agron snaps.

 

“So it’s about gay domestic abuse?” Donar asks.

 

“Yeah,” Agron mumbles.

 

“I didn’t even know that was possible,” he says thoughtfully, pondering the idea.

 

“Are you that much of a dumbass?  Just because it’s two guys instead of a guy and a girl doesn’t mean there isn’t abuse,” Agron barks.

 

“So which one are you?” Donar asks. 

 

Agron blushes and his eyes show his anger and confusion, “I’m the abuser,” he says finally. 

 

“Think you can pull it off?” Donar asks, folding his arms and looking him over, sizing him up.

 

“I’ve spent enough time learning about abusive relationships and neglect.  It shouldn’t be too hard to find my motivation,” he replies angrily. 

 

~*~

 

After the first class, their homework is to review the handouts they had been given on the basics of theatre, to look over their parts and to analyze their particular character.

 

Agron had been certain Monday during the first day of their acting workshop that he had never seen Nasir on campus before, but he notices him a few times during the week by chance, as he moves around campus between classes.  Agron sees him sitting under a tree, relaxing, laughing and smoking with a blond guy who has his arm draped around a cute brunette on Tuesday afternoon. On Wednesday evening, he sees Nasir getting into the passenger seat of a big black pickup truck with a police association sticker in the back window, idling in the parking lot beside the old arts building. When Nasir leans across the front seat and kisses the driver, Agron pauses in midstride. He squints into the distance, trying to see the other person in the truck.  He only gets a glimpse of dark hair before the person turns to face forward again, and the truck pulls out of the lot.

 

Early on Thursday morning, he stopped to get a tall cup of very strong coffee at the café by the campus.  The air cool and crisp but nice in the full, bright sun as Agron heads over to watch Donar’s football practice at the south field. Passing by the track on the way, he sees Nasir running. He is surprised into a smile at the sight of him out of his usual all-black and in blue shorts and a grungy grey t-shirt instead.  He turns to continue walking towards the varsity team’s practice field when he hears Nasir behind him, “Agron?”  Raising a hand to shield his eyes, he sees Nasir jogging off of the track and coming towards him.  “You watching me?” Nasir asks, breathless, with a bright smile.

 

“No, I just…you deviated from your typical color scheme today. I almost didn’t recognize you,” Agron says, indicating Nasir’s clothes.

 

“Do you really think you know me well enough that you know what my usual wardrobe is?” Nasir asks, catching his breath with his hands planted on his hips.

 

“I guess not. So, do you run a lot? Are you on the track team or something?” Agron asks curiously. 

 

“Nah. I just enjoy it. Good exercise, a good outlet for stress and all. You should try it,” Nasir suggests. 

 

“Nah. I had more than my share of running when I played football. All the laps and shit they made us do. Brings back too many bad memories of the dickhead coaches,” he explains. 

 

“I didn’t know you played,” Nasir says, looking him over, as if he missed the sign on him saying ‘former dumb jock.’  “Is that why you stopped? Because the coaches were ‘dickheads’?”

 

“One of many reasons,” Agron says vaguely. 

 

Nasir watches him, trying to decide whether to push, but instead asks, “Did you read the play yet?”

 

“Yep. The whole thing. And I’ve been taking notes on Rick, trying to get him straight in my head,” Agron says. 

 

Nasir snorts, “Trying to get him ‘straight’...you did see the stage directions for scene seven, right?”

 

Agron nods, blushing slightly, “Are you cool with the gay stuff? I assumed you must be, because of the questionnaires. Lucius wouldn’t assign people to a play like this if they had any issue with it.”

 

“Totally cool with the gay stuff,” Nasir winks. 

 

“Oh,” Agron says, scrunching up his nose as he looks up at him. “You’re gay?”

 

“All my life,” Nasir states staring unblinking with cold dark eyes into nervous green ones.  “That’s not an issue, is it?” he asks rather firmly.

 

“No. No issue at all.  Totally cool,” Agron smiles with a faint pink tinge to his cheeks. 

 

“Good,” Nasir says, staring him down in that disturbingly piercing way that he has a moment longer before tugging the familiar knot loose that holds his hair up.  His long dark mane unravels and lifts lightly in the cool morning breeze.  He runs his fingers through the knots and pulls it back up into a knot again before he turns to go back to his jogging with a final, “See you in class then, Agron.”

 

“Yeah. See ya,” Agron replies absently, watching him go before he continues on to the football field. 

 

~*~

 

The first hour of that afternoon’s class is spent listening to Lucius explain to them about stage directions, marking their scripts, and character analysis. He tells them how they should ‘mark’ the beats in their scripts with a line: a beat being a moment in the script where their character wants something. They could want to be embraced or be loved; they could want respect, to offend or to insult.  The things that they want are known as their ‘objective’. After they mark the beats and write down their objectives, they should also note the obstacle, which is the thing preventing them from achieving their objective. So, for instance, if their objective is to be loved, their obstacle could be that the other character is angry at them. The way that they achieve this objective and overcome the obstacle is known as their tactic. And these things can change from line to line. It all depends on the reactions of your partner in the scene.

 

After Lucius covers the theory behind the marking techniques, he sets them all to work analyzing their own scripts. As they all quietly concentrate on marking them, they scattered around the room, some of them sitting with friends, some sitting with their assigned group.  Lucius goes from student to student and checks on their progress. He warns them not to let their scene partner, or partners, know how they are marking their scripts or what their tactics and objectives are, so they are not able to anticipate what each other is going to do from moment to moment. It should flow naturally, and they should be able to react honestly to each other.

 

Agron had started class sitting with Donar and Saxa, but after working for a while on his notes, he leaves them with a murmured promise to meet up later, and goes to sit with Nasir.  He finds Nasir sitting a ways off from the rest of the class, and Agron pulls up a chair, looking over his notes and running his lines through his head as Nasir finished his own work.

 

When Lucius gives them the okay to spend the second half of the class running lines, the room gets louder as people start conversing and getting ready to rehearse.  “How much acting experience do you have?” Nasir asks him before biting his lip between his teeth.

 

“Not much,” Agron responds, trying not to stare at Nasir’s mouth. “Drama club in high school. I was in a bunch of plays there. And I started to working at a community theatre just for fun during summer breaks back home, but I haven’t done that in a few years. How about you?”

 

“I’ve been in a few plays. Worked with Lucius a few times too, but I cut back this year since I’m a double-major. I just couldn’t fit it into my schedule anymore,” he explains with a note of sadness. 

 

Surprised, Agron gapes a little at him saying, “You’re a double major?”

 

“Mm-hmm. Painting and Business,” he explains nonchalantly. 

 

“Interesting,” he says, his curiosity peeked and wanting to ask more, but deciding not to out of a fear of seeming rude or overly inquisitive.

 

“How about you?” Nasir asks, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms over his chest, his dark eyes shining brightly in the ring of dark kohl surrounding them.

 

“I’m a Criminal Justice major,” Agron offers. 

 

“Pretty heavy stuff, man. You want to be a detective or something?” Nasir asks curiously, if somewhat guarded. 

 

“Something like that. I am specializing in law enforcement,” Agron explains.

 

“Cool. You don’t seem the type though,” Nasir states while leaning forward watching Agron through his eyelashes. 

 

“You know the ‘type’?” Agron says doubtfully.

 

“In a way. My boyfriend’s a cop,” he explains. 

 

“Oh. That’s…You’re dating a cop? I thought you’d be with someone more like--well, you,” Agron finishes lamely. 

 

“And just what am I like then?” Nasir asks innocently, resting his chin in his hand and waiting with an openly curious expression.

 

“Um…artistic?” Agron offers, biting his bottom lip nervously.

 

“Glaber’s artistic. Just because someone has a normal job, it doesn’t mean they don’t have other interests, you know,” Nasir retorted shortly. 

 

“Yeah--you’re right.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -” Agron apologizes with a slight blush. 

 

“You didn’t. It’s fine.  We should we get started then?” Nasir says, waving his script around. 

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Agron looks up, seeing Lucius moving around the room, checking in on the different groups. “So for Rick, these are my thoughts.  He seems like he honestly cares about Jesse or wants to, and Jesse tries so hard to keep him happy, but no matter what Jesse does, Rick always seems to be angry.”

 

“And Jesse calms Rick back down by being loving and affectionate…using his charm and body as his weapon. And it usually works,” Nasir interjects. 

 

“Because Rick does care about him, and it shows him what he’s doing wrong. So he apologizes and they move on,” Agron says.

 

Nasir continues, “But it’s a cycle, because it just keeps happening the same way, until Jesse gets seriously hurt because he doesn’t ask for help. He thinks he can do it on his own, that he can handle it. But he--can’t.”

 

They lock eyes for a long moment, trying to read each other and letting themselves settle into their respective characters, into the mindsets of Rick and Jesse.  Nasir pulls out his script and turns to the third page. Agron does the same.  “Maybe we should start here. The first scene doesn’t have too much,” Nasir clears his throat, “dialogue.”

 

“Yeah. Good idea,” Agron agrees.  He shakes himself a little and trying to concentrate and tune out the noise from the rest of the room.  He pictures him and Nasir alone in a smallish kitchen in Rick and Jesse’s apartment in the city. He tries to envision it down to the pot of coffee brewing behind Jesse.

 

“Where’ve you been?” Agron asks sounding accusatory.   Nasir watches the fire burning in Agron’s green eyes.  This makes it easier for Nasir to channel Jesse.

 

“I told you,” Nasir smiles uncertainly. “I just went out to get your birthday present.”

 

“I can smell him on you,” Agron growls.

 

“No baby, please. I swear it’s just from riding the bus home. You know how it is. Too damn crowded anymore, with people pushing up against you with every turn and bump in the road,” Nasir finishes softly, trying to explain, his dark eyes wide and innocent, his lips pouting a little with sadness.

 

Agron sees something flash in Nasir’s eyes, but it’s quickly gone and buried before Agron has a chance to tell what it is.  “Is that what he told you to say?” he asks more quietly.

 

Nasir knows this is the part where Rick grabs Jesse and hurts him. Nasir tries to visualize it, tries to see Agron’s larger body bearing down on him, threatening him, making him feel helpless.  “No, it’s the truth, Rick. I would never do that to you, I promise. I love you, baby. Please, you’re hurting my wrist.”

 

They just stare at each other for a moment, and Agron sees Nasir lick his lips, his breath coming a little faster, a little harder. He wonders for a second what’s wrong with Nasir, if maybe Agron had screwed something up, if there was perhaps something off with the way he read his lines, until he realizes his cheeks are also flushed and hot, his lips parted with his equally quickened breath. The tension thickens and the silence draws out.

 

“Good job,” they hear Lucius say from over Agron’s shoulder. They both are startle instantly out of whatever had been going on between them, whatever the moment had built them up to and look up at their professor. “Especially for a first reading. I can already tell, you two are going to be perfect for these parts.”

 

“Thanks,” Nasir smiles.

 

“You’re going to have to start rehearsing outside of class. Did you guys discuss that yet?” Lucius asks. 

 

“No sir,” Agron responds, “not yet.”

 

“You can call me Lucius, Agron. Formalities aren’t necessary here, but I appreciate it,” Lucius chuckles.

 

“Okay--Lucius,” Agron stumbles. 

 

“Good. Keep reading through as much of the play as you can, and after you’ve rehearsed a few times over the week, I think you’ll be ready for me to help you block things out next Monday or Thursday in class. And since this play has a fair amount of violence, I’ll be reviewing some stage combat techniques with you, as well as with some of the other groups in class. Alright?” Lucius asks. 

 

“Yeah, ” they reply in unison. 

 

“And I see that you skipped over the first scene. You should practice that too, on your own. It’ll help you get past the initial awkwardness. And remember, it’s just acting. You just have to make the audience believe it. It doesn’t have to be real,” Lucius explains.

 

“Thanks. Got it, Lucius. We’ll be okay, I think. But I promise we’ll work on it,” Nasir tells him. 

 

“Excellent. I won’t hold you up anymore. Keep up the good work,” he says, moving on to the next group.

 

Agron turns back to Nasir. “So we need to find somewhere to meet to rehearse, I guess. I can always tell Donar to clear out, and we can use our apartment,” he offers.  

 

“Why don’t you just come by my studio. I have a private space in the arts building. It’s where I work on my portfolio pieces for my painting final. But it’s good to know we’ve got options,” Nasir says. 

 

They keep reading through the script, and as it becomes slightly more tolerable for Agron listening to the embarrassing, emotional, and suggestive lines that Nasir says.  He starts to think about the fact that they are going to actually have to perform this in front of an audience. The knowledge causes him to get nervous again, and he starts to flub his lines, even when he’s looking right at them.

 

“What’s wrong?” Nasir asks him, frowning.

 

“How are we going to do this in front of the school?” Agron asks quietly worrying the rolled corner of his script.

 

“It won’t be the whole school, Agron. Don’t worry, the jerks and assholes usually don’t bother coming to these kinds of performances. They’ll probably open it up to the community though. The couple of things I’ve been in, the audience has been really great, very responsive and supportive of the actors. And you won’t be able to see them anyway, with the lights and all in your face. All you’ll see is me,” Nasir offers encouragingly. 

 

This still does not seem to calm Agron based on his panicked expression, so Nasir tells him, “It’ll get less weird the more we practice it. The novelty will wear off and you won’t think about it as much.  It’ll just be natural.”

 

“Well that’s reassuring,” Agron snarks sarcastically.  “It’s going to become natural for me to dominant and intimate you while I beat you up?”

 

“You know what I meant,” Nasir grins, shaking his head.

 

Only a few minutes later, class is dismissed, and Agron stands, collecting his things and getting directions to Nasir’s studio.

 

“So tonight, then? I should be done by around nine,” Nasir says, stuffing his notebook and script unceremoniously into his messenger bag.

 

“Sure. See you then, Nasir,” he smiles and turns to leave.

 

~*~

 


	2. Chapter 2

~*~

 

Donar watches Agron grabs a slice of lukewarm pizza from the box on the counter, as he stares blankly at the game playing across the room on the TV.  Donar wonders how he can even manage to get the food into his mouth, as he seems miles away.  “Dude!  You with us over there?” he yells throwing a balled up wad of paper at Agron’s head.

 

“Screw you Donar,” he pouts debating about throwing a piece of the crust back at his roommate’s head.

 

“What’s up with you?” Donar asks, looking up from the notes he is studying for Econ, or at least he is trying to. “Don’t you have rehearsal tonight?  I know!  Your daydreamin’ about what it’s like to kiss a guy?  Just a friendly bit of advice, might wanna cut back on the garlic.”

 

Agron freezes mid chew, with his hand hovering in the air in front of his face.  His blank look changes to one of sheer terror as he stares at the offending piece of food.  “Oh god,” he mumbles looking around for a place to spit it out. 

 

“I’m just kidding,” Donar laughs rubbing Agron’s back as he gags and spits out the food into the garbage.  Agron glares at him over his shoulder but drops the rest the slice in the garbage.  He backs up against the back wall of the kitchen and folds his arms protectively over his chest.  Donar’s forehead creases with concern.  He begins to question Agron’s acting ability if he is having such a hard time masking his emotions,

“What’s he like?” he asks out of the blue.

 

“Hmm?” Agron murmurs, not looking up from the fascinating spot on the carpet that has him captivated.

 

“Nasir? What’s he like?” Donar prods. 

 

“Oh.  He’s--different--nice but really intense,” he says, biting at the end of his thumb. “Sounds stupid, but he makes me kinda nervous.”

 

“Maybe because he’s gonna kiss you or that you’re gonna pretend to beat him up.  I mean I know most people are smaller than you are, but he’s really a little guy.  Is it the play?  If you’re not comfortable, you need to tell Lucius,” Donar advises. 

 

“I’m fine with the play, man. It’s not the damn play. I get it. It’s an exercise. It’s a class. I’m not trying to be a professional actor or anything.  Even if I totally screw it all up, it’s not that big a deal.  It’s just--I mean I’m goin’ to some guy’s studio and we’re gonna be pretending to make out.   I think it’s just fucking with my head, you know?”  Agron tries to explain while he smacks his temple with the palm of his right hand.

 

“I think these plays are meant to fuck with your head.  I know my play is.  I mean some of the shit I have to say to Saxa and this other guy, Castus.  I just--I feel so incredibly guilty after each time we rehearse it, I’m always fucking apologizing. So I get it. I do. Have a few beers or a couple of shots before you go over to take the edge off. That’s what I’d do,” Donar suggests. 

 

“Yeah,” Agron laughs blushing lightly as he rubs the back of his neck.  When Donar had returned to his studying, Agron casually pulls the whiskey from the cabinet, taking a swig right from the bottle. Then screws the cap back on as he puts the bottle back. If Donar notices, he does not comment. Agron grabs his jacket, his script and his keys. He gets as far as the door when he stops and turns to head to the bathroom. Donar smirks and shakes his head when he hears the sounds of water running while Agron gargles and brushes his teeth.

 

When he reappears, Agron just points a finger at Donar and says, “Not a word.” Donar raises his hands in surrender with a smirk as he mimes zippering his lips shut.  He watches his roommate actually makes it through the door this time, pulling it tightly closed on his way out.

 

~*~

 

When Agron gets to studio 7B on the top floor of the old converted factor that is used as the arts building, he stares at the foreboding door.  It is shut tight with no window to see through to the room inside, and it is covered with stickers and ripped pieces of flyers from years and years of use by different artists. There’s light classical music playing on the other side. He smirks a little to himself and takes a deep breath before raising a hand to knock.

 

“Yeah?” he hears muffled through the door.

 

“Um, it’s Agron!” he yells out to be heard through thick door, “From the acting class?  I’m here to…”

 

The door gets yanked open, and he stares at Nasir with a questioning, raised eyebrow, since he is tugging at his shirt like he’s just putting it on, and finishes lamely with, “…rehearse?”

 

“Are you sure?” Nasir smiles widely.  “Sorry, I totally forgot what time it was,” Nasir says shyly, waving Agron into the room. “Guess I was in my own little world. Happens a lot when I’m working. Come on in, man.”

 

Agron smiles back enjoying how open and sweet Nasir seems to be when he is in his own space, instead of in class or out on campus.  It relaxes Agron’s nerves a little bit seeing that Nasir seems nervous as he is.  He does not seem to be as defensive as he has in their previous meetings.  Agron watches with his hands shoved in his sweatshirt’s pockets, his script rolled up and sticking out of the back of his jeans, as Nasir moves an easel or two out of the way, clearing the space in the middle of the floor. He sets aside a palette covered in dollops of different shades of brown and green paint, and grabs a handful of used, dirty brushes and brings them out into the hallway, dumping them in the large, communal sink to be washed off later.

 

Trying not to stare at the paintings propped up around the room as Nasir cleans up, Agron feeling as if he is intruding on Nasir’s private little sanctuary, but he feels compels to say something about how unspeakably amazing they all are. His style is almost hyper-realistic with living, raw emotion that makes Agron just want to stare in admiration at each one of the thirty or so paintings in various stages of completion propped up around the room.  “Dude, you’re really fucking talented, ” Agron says in awe.  He realizes what he has said and grins sheepishly.

 

“Thanks,” Nasir says smiling in return.  He bites his lip bashfully and asks nervously, “You really like them?”

 

“Yeah. I don’t--honestly, I don’t know the first fucking thing about art, but I can tell that you’re really good.  So, for what it’s worth, I’m impressed,” he says.   Nasir blushes a little at Agron’s compliments regarding his artwork and Agron suddenly notices they are standing only about a foot away from each other at this point, and for some reason are speaking more quietly to each other. Agron becomes more aware of the classical music playing from the iPod dock on the windowsill, and glances over at it.

 

“Is that bothering you?” Nasir asks, suddenly concerned again. “I can turn it off.  I just usually like to play music while I work,” he explains turning to shut off his iPod. 

 

“Nasir, it’s okay.  You can leave it,” Agron assures him reaching to stop him.  He gasps and Nasir’s breath catches when Agron’s fingers graze the back of his hand.  Agron jerks his hand back mumbling, “Sorry.  I’m just a little nervous.”  He blushes and stuffs his hands deeper into the pockets of his sweatshirt.  Nasir watches Agron through his lashes and waits.  “I--I’ve never really done anything like this--kiss a guy--I mean,” he admits.

 

“Are you okay with doing this?” Nasir asks.  Agron shrugs slightly biting his lip and staring at the floor trying to hide his blush when he nods.  They stand awkwardly like that for what seems like forever before Nasir asks, “Do you want to read from the scripts first?”

 

“No…I…I think I just want to do it. Okay?” Agron says taking a deep breath. 

 

Nasir snickers, “It’s a kiss man, not an execution.” Agron laughs and relaxes a little.  They take a second and center themselves and get into character. He takes a breath, centering himself, and his face starts to change, as he becomes Jesse, so Agron tries to do the same, and find Rick inside himself.  “Ready?” Nasir asks. “I’m just going to go for it, okay? Tell me to stop if you need to. I won’t be offended.”  Not quite sure he can bring himself to speak, Agron just nods, and tries to will his heartbeat to slow down, since he can feel it hammering away in his ribcage.

 

He tries to envision Rick and Jesse’s apartment, to feel Rick’s mental state; his possessiveness, his want of control.  When he looks up from the floor, his eyes are dark and his face is blank.  Agron sees Nasir smiling up at him saying, “Hey, I got stuck in traffic on forty-ninth street. There was some sort of car accident, big one by the sound of it.  I’m so sorry I’m late, but I’m going to make it up to you, and cook your favorite tonight. That tuna casserole that…”

 

The blood rushing in his ears, the room tilting a little as he stops breathing completely when he sees Nasir take the one step across the space between them, sliding one hand back around his waist and placing it against the small of Agron’s back, using it to pull him closer.  He leans up and his other one cups the back of Agron’s head pulling him down and places a soft, feather-light kiss on Agron’s lips.

 

When Agron realizes it is not really that as scary as he thought it would be, he exhales the breath he has been holding and allows himself to touch Nasir. Agron places a hand on Nasir’s shoulder and squeezes.  He breaks the kiss and wraps his other arm around Nasir’s back. He parts his lips slightly and presses his lips back against Nasir’s, a little more firmly than before now that the initial fear is gone.  His eyes are closed; he focuses on Rick, on his cravings for possession and dominance to block out the bizarre reality of what he is currently doing.

 

“I love you. I missed you so much today,” Nasir says quietly, eyes shining bright.  Agron can feel his stare, even through closed eyelids, and has a strong hunch that he is channeling Jesse’s love and affection.  As such, he chooses to keep his eyes shut and concentrates instead on the words rather than the intensity of Nasir’s face.  “So you’re not mad?” Nasir asks hesitantly.  Agron can imagine his brow creasing with a frown.

 

“Of course not. Don’t be silly,” Agron  says lightly, with the slightest bitter, condescending undercurrent that chills him a little. He wonders how Nasir manages to be so good at portraying his character.  Agron knows this is acting but it just feels wrong, twisted, and so un-him. 

 

Agron feels a fingertip brush his lips, and it shocks him into opening his eyes.  Seeing Nasir staring up at him, at his eyes and lips, he hears him murmur, “God, you’re so beautiful.”

 

His green eyes open wider, and he gapes soundlessly.  He knows that this is the next line, and this is only the first time they have read this scene, Agron stares into Nasir’s deep brown eyes, and he can see that Nasir is saying this to him and not his character, Jesse, or maybe he’s just imagining things.  It is his turn to initiate a kiss, he is just about to, when he sees Nasir’s eyes fill with such pure, heart-wrenching sadness and longing that it scares him.  Agron feels helpless to resist and does the only thing he can do.  He kisses Nasir, really kisses him trying to sooth his pain and sadness.  That is the only thing he can think of when he tries to rationalize it to himself, always being the hero and fixing what is broken no matter what the costs, breaking other things in the process and then trying to fix those too.

 

However, this is no ordinary kiss. It is so much more. It is a beginning.  A tiny snowflake meeting another and another, building and building and building upon itself until there is only an avalanche destroying everything in its path.  Agron and Nasir’s lives and the lives of everyone they know, past, present and future are entwined with would be changed forever, irrevocably, because of it.  And later, after years have passed, Agron will sit and marvel that it all started with something as small as a kiss.  After all of the pain, tears, torment and unspeakable mental and physical harm, that came because of this, if you asked him if he would go back and make a different decision, Agron would tell you emphatically ‘not in a million years.’

 

Where the first kiss had been a simple matter of lips pressing against lips – chaste and innocent and devoid of intention, Nasir sees on Agron’s face even before their lips meet for the second time, that this kiss is going to be different, that this kiss is between them and not their characters. Agron’s thick, dark, curling eyelashes flutter open, and the piercing bright jade of his eyes is momentarily revealed as he leans down and tilts his head a little to the side. His parted lips hover over Nasir’s, just breathing him in for a long second before his soft, full lips close around Nasir’s top lip.  As Nasir feels Agron’s tongue flick experimentally over the seam of his mouth, Nasir’s lust breaks free of the careful walls he has built to contain it all in.  He takes Agron’s face in both of his hands, feels him obediently part his lips and Nasir presses demandingly inside.

 

The kiss is hard and deep, and as Nasir thrusts his pierced tongue into Agron’s mouth, tasting the faint lingering peppermint of his mouthwash, stroking the metal ball of the tongue-stud over Agron’s tongue, sliding it over his teeth. He sucks on his full lips, frowning severely as his need for Agron overwhelms him. Nasir’s fingers press harder into the tender flesh of the other man’s cheeks.  When Agron makes a soft noise of pure desire, Nasir moans thickly.  He wants to kiss Agron more, to take him in deeper and rougher for as long as he possibly can, hoping that it will never end, but he becomes aware of what is happening, and the implications of it.  Nasir makes a small noise and breaks free, pulling back.  Breathing harshly, Nasir stares at Agron’s swollen, kiss-bitten lips.  “What’re we doing?” Nasir asks breathlessly. “I’m so sorry, Agron.”

 

“What? Don’t be sorry. Hell, I started it,” Agron pants.

 

“Why?” Nasir demands touching his tender lips with trembling fingers.

 

Agron was confused and bashful when he replies, “I-I don’t know…you looked so upset.  I just wanted to--to--you didn’t tell me you had a tongue piercing.” He blinks in confusion. 

 

Nasir glares slightly, “I didn’t think my tongue-stud was something that would concern you, since--wait, you kissed me because I looked upset?” he asks in confusion. 

 

“I don’t know, man. I didn’t really think about it. It was kind of a spur of the moment kind of thing. Besides, you looked like you needed it,” Agron tries to explain as he scratches the back of his neck nervously.

 

“I looked like I needed to be kissed?” Nasir asks in disbelief.

 

“Well--yeah,” Agron says.  “Besides, I was supposed to kiss you,” he says defensively with his hands on his hips, “It’s in the script.  Remember?” he demands in a huff.

 

“Yeah, but there’s a stage kiss and there’s a kiss, and that was…” he trails off with a faint blush as he stares at the scuffed toes of this Dr. Martens. 

 

“Hey, I’m not the one at fault here. Or at least not the only one. You kissed me back. A lot. With tongue and lips and a metal stud and…,” Agron complains flailing his arms indignantly. 

 

“So what are we doing?” Nasir demands angrily up at him with his hands on his hips. 

 

“Can we not talk in circles, please? I’m bad with circles,” Agron asks with a confused nervous look on his face as he bites his lip slamming his fists further into the pockets of his sweatshirt.

 

“You never answered me the first time,” Nasir snaps.

 

“Okay,” Agron raises his hands in surrender.  “Let’s just call it a fluke,” he says trying to placate Nasir. 

 

“Good. Yeah, it was a fluke. Yeah, that’ll work,” Nasir says in agreement and licks his lips, tasting the minty residue of Agron’s kisses.  He looks up and sees Agron’s eyes following the path of his tongue, “Stop staring at my lips,” he demands looking at Agron’s mouth.

 

“You stop staring at my lips!” Agron yells back defensively.

 

“Let’s just both stop. Okay. Do you want a drink? There’s a vending machine in the hallway. Can I get you a soda or something?” Nasir says by way of an apology. 

 

“Sure,” Agron sighs, lowering himself onto the old, worn couch that’s been pushed against the far wall and rubs at his eyes while Nasir disappears through the door to get the drinks. He comes back a minute or two later after two loud clunks echo along the hallway, which Agron assumes are the sodas being dispensed from the machine.

 

Nasir hands one to Agron and says, “I’m still sorry.”

 

“Nasir, do not apologize, please. Thanks for the soda. And it was--look man; you’ve got nothing to be sorry about,” Agron blushes taking a sip of his soda after he pops the top.

 

“You should’ve stopped me. Why didn’t you stop me?” Nasir says nervously biting his lip.

 

Agron rolls his eyes dramatically, and grins, “Do I need to kiss you again just to shut you up?”

 

_Fuckin dimples!_  “No. Sorry,” Nasir blushes thumbing the tab on the soda can. 

 

Agron glares at him for the third apology, and throws a hand up in the air in exasperation. He lays his head back on the couch and says, “Can we move on now?”

 

“Sure. Skip to the next scene?” Nasir says hopefully as he looks up from his can of soda.

 

“Oh hell yes,” Agron says in breathing a sigh of relief. 

 

Agron stands and puts his soda down on an end table next to the couch, and Nasir does the same.  Agron runs his hand back and forth through his short hair, turning his back to Nasir and composing himself. He waits a full minute, trying to block out everything else that had just happened and trying to remember the lines. Eventually, he grabs his script and scans the page before being ready enough to start.

 

He turns and faces Nasir before he takes a step forward.

 

Agron looks downright scary as he stalks over towards Nasir, wrapping one hand firmly around his bicep and says harshly, “Where have you been?”

 

Feeling unsteady and trapped with Agron holding him close to his body, his green eyes burning and mean, Nasir stutters out the line, “I…I t-told you. I just w-went out to get your b-birthday present.”

 

Agron leans in even further until his nose and mouth are right next to Nasir’s ear and neck, skin brushing lightly against skin, and he can hear Agron take a deep breath as he really does inhale Nasir’s scent. Nasir’s stomach starts to flutter restlessly and his heart begins to race when Agron says menacingly, “I can smell him on you.”

 

_It’s just a fucking play. He’s acting, you’re acting. It’s not real. Nasir is staring at you like this because he’s supposed to.  You’re breathing in the smell of his hair and neck because it’s in the script. He kissed you because you kissed him. And he’s gay, so he probably kisses guys all the time. It’s no big deal.  It’s no big deal, right?_ Nasir is about to say his line, but when he opens his mouth to say the words, what comes out first can only be described as a small whimper.  Agron’s grip on his arm tightens even more in surprise.  Agron leans in closer to Nasir and his lips pressed to his shiny black tresses, sounding like he’s trying to catch his breath.  The proximity continues to make him lightheaded.  He rolls his eyes up and clears his throat to try again.

 

“No baby, please. I swear it’s just from riding the damn bus home.”  Nasir says turning in Agron’s grip.  He puts one hand to the side of his face, and the other resting against his hip. Nasir looks pleadingly up to him and says, “You know how it is, too many people pushing up against you with every turn and bump in the road.”

 

Agron mimics Nasir’s position and his thumb slides a gently along Nasir’s cheekbone and Nasir turns into the touch, like he is starved for the comfort it gives him. When he says the line, he sounds distracted, like he really is just reciting the words and not trying to be Rick at all and says, “Is that what he told you to say?”  With his face turned into Agron’s hand, Nasir takes hold of his forearm and presses a soft kiss to the inside of Agron’s wrist.

 

Nasir absently mumbles his lines as he stares up into Agron’s darkening green eyes,  “No, it’s the truth, Rick. I would never do that to you, I promise. I--I,” Nasir blinks in confusion and stares at Agron’s parted lips, “I think you need to go now Agron,” he says quietly but urgently.

 

“Wha--why?” he breathes, as Nasir not only does not release his hold, but leans up into him again, their lips almost close enough to touch.

 

“Because I really want to kiss you again,” Nasir says, gently brushing his fingertips over Agron’s lips. He will not meet Agron’s eyes, but Agron can still see the pain and guilt in Nasir’s face. “He always says I’m too impulsive. That there’s something wrong with me. Maybe he’s right. I have no right to…” Nasir babbles in a rush.

 

“What are you talking about?” Agron cuts in.

 

“Nothing. Look, maybe we should pick this up another day,” Nasir suggests, taking a step back, and then another, releasing Agron.

 

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right. Just…promise me that you won’t feel bad about this. Please?” Agron asks. He grabs a pen from Nasir’s drawing table, filled with sketches and supplies, and walks over to him. Nasir flinches away from him.

 

Agron smiles, “I’m not going to bite,” He takes Nasir’s hand and writes his phone number on it, saying, “Call me tomorrow, and we’ll figure out when we can try again…without the kissing.”

 

“Okay,” Nasir smiles back. He takes Agron’s hand, a little bashfully, and writes his number on it as well. “That’s me.”  Agron nods and smiles again and turns to leave.  _Fuckin’ dimples!_ “I’ll call--tomorrow,” Nasir says quietly, looking broken and tormented.

 

“Hey, are you okay?” Agron asks gently.

 

“You sound like Sibyl,” Nasir laughs, and brushes away a stray tear.

 

“Who? Nasir…” asks in concern. 

 

“Go, Agron. I’m not your problem. You can’t fix me,” Nasir mumbles despondently. 

 

“Hey…” Agron turns and reaches for Nasir again.

 

“Go!” Nasir demands and Agron relents, raising his hands and backing away.

 

“’Night Nasir,” he says quietly as he leaves.

 

“Goodnight,” Nasir says, sinking to the floor and folding his arms around his knees, hanging his head between them.

 

~*~

 

“I screwed up, Sibyl,” Nasir says into his cell, standing a block away from Glaber’s house.

 

“Sweetie, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” she asks, and he can hear the panic in her voice.

 

“I kissed someone and Glaber’s gonna know. He always knows. And that’s not even the worst part! I can’t stop thinking about him!” Nasir mutters miserably. 

 

“Who?” Sibyl demands in confusion. 

 

“His name’s Agron. He’s the one from my acting class that I told you guys about. We were rehearsing in my studio and we kissed--I mean we really kissed. And I just--I just wanted to keep kissing him, Sibyl. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. My chest literally aches when I look at him and he…he kissed me too. And he was so nice to me. He was worried about me. But I don’t know, I can’t figure it out. He’s…he’s nothing like me. And he’s not gay. He’s got everything he could ever want…so why would he want me? Why would Agron kiss me and look at me like that and the way that he touched my face like he wanted to take all of the pain away…I just…”

 

“Honey…” she tries to cut in, though she knows he’ll feel better if he just finishes his rant.

 

“But it doesn’t matter, because it was a fluke. Agron said it was a fluke and I have to go home now. And Glaber’s gonna fucking know, Sibyl. He’ll see it in my face,” Nasir babbles in a panic.

 

“If that son-of-a-bitch is still hurting you Nasir? Because I swear to God…” Sibyl rants indignantly.

 

“No," Nasir says overly-defensively as always. "Glaber’s been fine…recently. He’s been so good to me and now I’ve gone and fucked everything up.  You--you know what, I deserve it. Even if he finds out…even if he does something...I’ve got it coming. This time I've really got it coming,” Nasir reasons and tries to convince himself.

 

“Nasir, you listen to me. Come stay with us tonight. Please, sweetie. I’m begging you. Leave the bastard! Gannicus and I will take care of you. Just please. Turn around, and walk in the other direction. Go somewhere safe, and I’ll get in the car and pick you up right now,” Sibyl pleads. 

 

“We’ve been through this Sibyl. I can’t,” Nasir sniffles, rubbing his nose and swallowing his tears. 

 

“Because he’s your sugar daddy? This is your life we’re talking about Nasir!” Sibyl yells into the phone. 

 

“We’ve been through this, Sibyl. He’s not my sugar daddy! Glaber loves me, and he gives me everything I need. And after this semester, I only have one year left in school. This is my chance to be something. Without Glaber, I’d have been just another dirty street kid, living out of a fucking cardboard box or something.  After Nana got sick and died, I was eighteen, too old for foster care. God knows what I would have had to do to survive, and I would have had no one. He saved me from that. He takes care of me,” Nasir justifies. 

 

“I know Nasir, you keep telling me that like I’m going to suddenly start believing it, but you can’t live with someone you’re this afraid of. Please come and stay with us for tonight. Just tonight,” she implores. 

 

“No, I’ll be fine. I just needed to talk, I think. I feel better now. Really,” Nasir tries to placate her.

 

“Sweetie, please…,” Sibyl pleads

 

“Bye Sibyl. I’ll call you in the morning,” Nasir says closing his phone on Sibyl frantically calling out his name.  He turns it off so she cannot call him back, and he heads towards the house. 

 

~*~

 


	3. Chapter 3

~*~

 

Glaber tries to get Nasir to eat something, knowing that he tends to skip dinner when he is working late at his studio, but Nasir could not even stomach even the thought of food and settles for a beer and a cigarette instead. They watched some TV and Glaber had told him about the drug bust that he had helped with earlier in the day. Nasir did his best to stay focused on what Glaber was saying and to look happy and unconcerned.

 

The cigarette must have given him away because he only smokes when he needs to calm down. After Glaber’s crime drama program ends around midnight, he tells Nasir that it is time to go to bed.

Now that they are standing in their bedroom, Nasir can feel Glaber watching him as he gets undressed. Glaber always watches when Nasir gets undressed. Nasir does not mind, but when Nasir is naked and putting on his pajamas, that is when he usual finds out if Glaber ha s something planned for him other than sleep.  When Nasir is naked and exposed is when Glaber always strikes, “Turn around Nasir.”  Nasir’s eyes widen and he prays to whoever might be listening but does requested and turns around making his face blank and impassive.  “I can tell you’re feeling guilty about something, poti[kew1] . You know you can’t hide anything from me.”

“Glaber I…” Nasir begins nervously, hands twitching against his naked thigh. 

Glaber raises a hand and Nasir stops talking instantly, closing his mouth with a snap.  “I don’t want to hear it. I’m not going to make you tell me what it is, but I am going to punish you. You know you deserve it, don’t you?”  Nasir does not even hesitate, nor does he even consider it because he knows he does deserve it.  He had broken the rules, he wanted someone else, something more, something better, and he had given into it. A sick, masochistic part of him wants this punishment, even though he gets absolutely no pleasure out of the things that Glaber does to him. He sees how much pleasure Glaber gets out of it, and is all too aware of the consequences of saying no or fighting back and refusing to play along. Nasir will always be smaller than Glaber. He will always be weaker and less than the other man.

It always ends the same way, him doing whatever Glaber wants him to do, and him just letting Glaber take whatever he wants.  He has walked down that road, and has paid the consequences of resisting. It is futile for him to try and resist.  It only causes him more pain and suffering at Glaber’s hands anyway.  In the end, it is always easier to go along with it, and take what Glaber gives him.  He knows it is better than the alternative.  Nasir nods and swallows loudly.  His face is drawn, tight, and afraid.

Glaber pulls open the chest at the end of the bed where he keeps his toys, gear and supplies, and pulls out the rubber ball gag.  He walks over and stands behind Nasir’s shivering form.  He reaches up and undoes the knot Nasir still has his hair tied up in.  He gently runs his fingers through the dark waves, carefully pulling through the snags.  When he is satisfied, he strokes and pulls his hair back so it lies down against the top of his shoulders.  He brings the ball gag around and holds the straps on either end.  Nasir stares at the bright red ball nervously and swallows.  “Open wide, poti,” Glaber says, fitting it into Nasir’s mouth. Breathing hard through his nose, his entire body is shaking with nerves.  A cold sweat breaks out on his skin as he bites down hard on the ball to steady himself.  The gag is secured around the back of his head and the handcuffs are locked around his wrists.  His arms are behind his back and tight enough that he knows his wrist will be bruised and raw after Glaber is finished with him.  “Good boy,” Glaber praises and turns to rummage in his drawer and then go to the closet to get what he needs.  Nasir stands in the corner, naked, gagged, and handcuffed as he watches Glaber place a sheet of plastic over the bed and a towel over that.  “Get up on the bed for me,” he says gently and helps Nasir get into position on his stomach with his legs spread. He stays like that for a minute, breathing harshly into the sheets.  “There we go,” Glaber singsongs.

Nasir whimpers and groans as he tries to calm down and control his breathing.  Glaber settles onto the bed between his legs. When he puts one firm hand against Nasir’s lower back, pinning him to the bed, Nasir tries to buck away and grunts in protest, but Glaber just says, “None of that, poti. You behave or I’ll have to get mean, and I know you don’t want me to get mean.”  Glaber’s rough hand reaches down between Nasir’s legs and wraps around his testicles and begins to squeeze. White light explodes behind Nasir’s eyes and his scream turns into a retch that he fights to control, not wanting to choke on his own vomit behind the barrier of the gag as he tries to writhe away from Glaber’s merciless hold. He knows he cannot get away, but his body does not want to listen to reason as it wrenches and tries to twist away anyway.  Glaber’s grip just gets tighter and tighter. He kneels heavily on Nasir’s thighs to keep him down.  “Come on now, poti. You can take it. You deserve this.  Remember?  Think how much better you’ll feel in the morning.”

He shifts his grip and Nasir screams shrilly through the gag as salty tears stream down his face leaving rivulets of the smeared remnants of his kohl and mascara that mat the darker strands of his long wavy hair that has scattered along his wet cheeks.  “I love you so much, poti,” Glaber croons.

~*~

Gannicus bursts through the door around ten o’clock the next morning, using the key that Nasir had secretly gotten made for him in case of emergencies.  Unfortunately, he has had to use it far too many times, so many that he made another copy of it for Sibyl, and a third for his extra set of keys that he usually leaves at their apartment. He is in a full-blown panic after Nasir’s only contact with Sibyl had been a text message, which he knows from experience that Nasir only does when he is not capable of speaking into the phone, either out of fear of Glaber or because he is in so much pain that he literally is not capable.  “Nasir!  Answer me, man!” he shouts, running from room to room until he finds him.

He finds Nasir in the kitchen, leaning heavily against the counter, looking stoned and sucking hard on a cigarette.  Gannicus rushes up to him and takes him carefully into a hug.  “What the fuck did he do to you?” he hisses, seeing the large ice pack on the counter, now warm and useless, and the large bottle of over-the-counter painkillers.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbles into Gannicus’ chest, but squeezes him tighter needing the comfort.

Sibyl enters the room behind Gannicus, and seeing Nasir’s black eye, she gasps, and Nasir can tell she is going to lose it again. Gannicus releases him, and disappears quickly from the room, but Nasir does not pay any attention to him. He just snuffs out his cigarette in the ashtray on the counter and takes a few hobbling steps towards Sibyl.

“Baby, what did he do?” she gasps reaching shaking hands out to him as she starts to cry.  He wraps her into his arms, hissing a little through his teeth when her arm grazes one of the bruises on his side from where Glaber had held him down.

“I’m okay. See?” he says, sounding like a robot; his words are automatic and empty.

When Gannicus gets to the bathroom just off of the master bedroom and sees the homemade biohazard container, he freezes.  He carefully lifts the lid and sees a very bloody towel, a sheet, still wet, soaked with blood and other fluids, and a few bloodied disposable scalpels.  When he gets back to the kitchen, he looks shaken and pale, but also wildly more furious than Nasir’s ever seen him before.  “I’m gonna kill him,” Gannicus growls through his teeth, and Nasir can see that he means it completely.

Nasir shakes his head and releases Sibyl to reach for his backpack, which on the floor against the wall.  When leans over to get it, he gives a small pained cry and Sibyl, shaking herself from her stupor.  She stops him and takes it, slinging it over her shoulder.  “Do you need to go to the hospital, sweetie?” she asks softly, sounding fairly toneless and empty herself.

“No. No hospital, but…maybe the clinic…at school,” he answers, sliding his arms into his coat. He also grabs a thick sweatshirt from the coat rack, knowing he will need something soft to sit on if he makes it to class.

“There’s a fucking towel soaked with blood.  Blood, Nasir.  Your blood!” Gannicus bellows in horror. “You are leaving him. Today. We’ll pack your things and get you the fuck out of here before he gets back.”

“No. I’m don’t want to talk about it. Can we just go to school? Please?” he begs.   Sibyl’s zombie-like expression twists as she starts to cry again. She moves to Nasir and lets him lean on her as he shuffles slowly to the door. Gannicus moves to Nasir’s other side and opens the door, helping him move outside to the car.

~*~

At the clinic, Nasir is in the back for over an hour before he emerges with the nurse following right behind him. They talk quietly in the doorway for a moment before he turns and makes his way to Gannicus and Sibyl.  Nasir does not tell the nurse why he is injured, or that his partner had been the one responsible, for fear that she would be required to put a call in to the police. He had answered her questions about what kinds of trauma he had sustained, and had only let her tend his wounds in whatever way she was able to.

“Well?” Gannicus asks.  Nasir starts to shake his head again, wanting to just forget and move on, but the look Gannicus gives him tells Nasir that he will not be able to get away with avoiding it anymore.  “Just tell us. We can tell that he didn’t just whip you like last time. There wouldn’t have been so much fucking blood. And what the hell were the goddamned scalpels for, man?” Gannicus asks fearfully. “This is serious shit, and if you can’t be honest with us about what’s happening, then I will call the cops. Or somebody. Even if you hate me for it. We care about you too goddamned much.”

His voice as hushed as he can make it, and looking around the now-empty room to make sure no one can hear, he says, “Alright, fine. He does more than just whip me. He does other things that I haven’t even told you guys about. But Glaber knows how to do this stuff, okay? He’s kind of a professional. When he wants to…punish me or whatever…he knows how to do it without causing…permanent damage. It doesn’t usually go as far as it did last night, though. So yeah, sometimes, he likes to do stuff to me that makes me hurt and cause pain, BDSM stuff. Sometimes he cuts me. Shallow cuts with a medical scalpel. Just enough to make me bleed. That’s what the blood and scalpels were from. And you didn’t even see the little electrocution device he has. It just kind of prickles and doesn’t usually hurt that much…unless you turn the voltage way up and hold it in one spot for too long.  Look, this isn’t the first time I’ve been a part of shit like this, you know. Some people just have different…fetishes. And if you’re in a relationship and you care about them and care about making them happy…then you indulge them. 

“The nurse cleaned my wounds, and she put on fresh bandages.  I was back there so long because she used an ultrasound to make sure my testicles hadn’t ruptured, which is completely bull shit because I wouldn’t be able to fucking walk if they had. I’m okay. And I have some really strong painkillers,” he says holding the bottle up and shaking the pills inside, “so I’m good. Now, can we go?”  Gannicus’s eyes are bugging out of his head, and his face is a sickly green. He does not respond; how can he? He just looks over at Sibyl in shock, unable to process what he just heard.

Sibyl steps closer to Nasir, her hands planted on her hips, and says, “You are not going back there. No arguments. You’re staying with us even if I have to get my own set of handcuffs to keep you there”

“How did you …” he starts to ask.

“Have you looked at your wrists?” she says incredulously, indicating the bright red, circular marks on them. “Do I look like an idiot?”

Gannicus says under his breath, his voice hollow and emotionless, “I’m really gonna fucking kill him now.”

“You can’t kill him, Gannicus. He’s a cop. Do you know what they would do to you?” Nasir pleads.

“I don’t care, it’d be fucking worth it for the sick shit he’s done to you against your will.”  Gannicus snaps.  Nasir’s face changes and he stares down at his fingers, turning the painkillers over and over in them.

“You wanted him to do it, didn’t you? You think you deserved it?” Sibyl asks, gently but a little accusingly.

“What?!” Gannicus exclaims, before lowering his voice again, “No, he doesn’t.”

“Yes. He does,” she says to Nasir, taking his hands in hers. “No one deserves this, sweetie. Nobody,” she says gently.

Nasir starts to tear up, not able to defend himself or deny that it’s true, that he does feel like his punishment, though harsh, was warranted. After everything, that Glaber has done for him to get his life on track after everything Nasir had in the whole world was taken from him again.  When his Nana got so sick and she passed away, Nasir was young and naïve.  He was desperate and scared, and Glaber gave him a home and a life, and a future.  Nasir knows he will never be able to admit to the relief he feels after Glaber’s punishments, no matter what it may involve, nor the brutal agony that can accompany them.  He always knows that when it is over, Glaber will hold him and clean him up and be so very affectionate. He will wrap him up in a blanket when he is shivering from blood loss and tell him how much he is loved.  Nasir always feels so much better. Glaber was right. He needs it, and he is afraid that he has started to depend on it to purge his guilt.

They gather up their things, with Sibyl carrying Nasir’s bag, not even letting him try to take it back, and they move outside into the courtyard, into the fresh air and sunshine.  Nasir takes a deep breath, enjoying the crispness of the air, and warm sun on his face, he is ready to just move on and enjoy the day.

Gannicus, however, is still thinking about Glaber.  “So, he sexually tortures you, and then pops you in the eye? What the fuck is with that about?” he demands. 

Nasir’s face darkens and he flushes with embarrassment.  “It’s nothing. He just…got angry…near the end. I got the sheets dirty…” he mumbles in explanation.

“What? Wait, he punched you in the eye because you got your blood on his sheets?” Gannicus hisses incredulously, leaning close to Nasir so that no one overhears.

Nasir rolls his eyes in exasperation, he rubs a hand over his forehead and says quietly, “No…I…look, when you’re--you’re being electrocuted like that…when you do it somewhere really sensitive, like on someone’s genitals…for too long…and with enough voltage…you can kind of…lose control of your bladder…sometimes. He expects me to control myself, no matter how much it hurts. And I just couldn’t anymore. But it was my fault, alright? I should have been able to…” he trails off looking anywhere but at his friends.  Gannicus is so alarmed and upset at what Nasir is telling him, the desolate look on his face, that he just pulls him into another hug and whisper to him that they are going to fix this. That they will protect him and not let anyone hurt him anymore.  Nasir does not respond. He just feels grateful to have friends that care about him so much.  He buries himself further into Gannicus’ chest mumbling, “Thanks for not judging me and for letting me tell you this stuff and you know, not hating me for it.”  Standing slightly behind Nasir, Sibyl claps a hand tightly to her mouth to stifle her sobs, she looks pleadingly at Gannicus who nods and rubs a hand over Nasir’s back.  “I’m so fucked up,” Nasir sniffles rubbing his eye when he comes out of his hiding place.  Once they have all calmed down, Gannicus and Sibyl go to buy some food from one of the vendors nearby, as Nasir sits on his sweatshirt under a tree since they still have a half hour before their classes start. 

He pops another painkiller into his mouth when he sees someone familiar walk by, Agron.  Nasir tenses and tries to duck his head and hide behind his hand, wanting Agron to just keep on walking and not see him, but he really is not surprised when it does not work.  “Nasir?” Agron says, grinning, having spotted him and moving in his direction.

“Hey Agron,” he says, trying for a smile. His hopes shift, since Agron is obviously coming over to say hello, and Nasir just prays that he does not notice the black eye under all the eye make-up he is wearing, which he started wearing every day once bruises became a fairly regular part of his life. It usually works, most of the time no one even notices; however, this is Agron. 

He gets closer, and once he is about five feet away Nasir sees Agron’s face lose its smile.  “What happened? Someone hit you,” he asks.

“It’s nothing. Seriously. I’m just so clumsy; I get tangled up in my own feet all the time. I totally just tripped and knocked into a piece of furniture,” Nasir tries to lie his way out of it. 

“You know, I might have bought it if you’d just said something like you were in a bar fight with some drunk asshole. Now you’re just freaking me out. Why are you lying?”  Agron demands. 

“I’m not lying, Agron,” Nasir snaps.

“Yeah you are. Look, one of the things I’m studying is domestic violence. I volunteered at a shelter for over a year. It’s probably one of the reasons why Lucius assigned me this damn play. I know how to recognize this shit. Is your boyfriend hitting you,” Agron demands grasping Nasir’s face with both hands as he gently trying to examine his injury.

Nasir raises his hand to grab Agron’s wrists and pull his hands away, not liking how even just Agron’s fingertips against his skin is send sparks of excitement tingling down into his gut.  Agron’s eyes catch sight on the wounds left by the handcuffs. Nasir can see that he knows what those marks are too.  “Shit,” Nasir curses, tugging his sleeves down and crossing his arms over his chest protectively. He looks away from Agron’s open-mouthed stare.

“He fucking handcuffed you?  Whatever he did to you after that caused you to fight the cuffs a whole lot. You know they make padded ones so that you don’t hurt yourself, but then, it looks like Glaber’s not too concerned about hurting you,” Agron observed darkly.

“This isn’t your problem, Agron,” Nasir pleads. “Let it go.”

“I’m making it my problem. What else did he do to you, Nasir? Did he beat you?” Agron pushes.  Agron watches Nasir’s face for a reaction, and when he doesn’t get one he continues.  “Did he rape you?”  Nasir flinches a little but he shakes his head.

“What, he gets off on torturing you then?”  Nasir’s face twists into a grimace, and he bites hard at his lip to keep his emotions in check. He is usually really good at ignoring these kinds of questions, but there is something about the fact that Agron is the one asking these questions and he sounds so concerned about him that it breaks through Nasir’s defenses. He looks away at the other students moving around the courtyard, unable to stand seeing the pity that he knows must be shining in Agron’s face.  “Holy shit! He does.  I’m gonna kill him,” Agron growls.

“You’re going to have to take a number; I think Gannicus’ has first dibs. Hey, maybe it can be a two-man operation,” Nasir laughs humorlessly. “Look, I’m a big boy, Agron, if you hadn’t noticed. I can take care of myself.”

“Uh, actually no you’re not.  This isn’t…this doesn’t have anything to do with what happened with us, does it?” he asks nervously trying to catch Nasir’s eyes who is determinedly avoiding him. 

“No, of course not,” Nasir says a little too quickly.  He frowns and sits back against the tree wincing a little in pain.

“You’re lying again,” Agron snaps seeing on Nasir’s face as clearly as if it was written there in black marker. “Oh fuck me…Nasir…this is my fault…I kissed you and this is what happened because of it?” he sits back on his heels, pressing his hands to his temple. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god,” he mutters rocking back and forth slightly.

“Agron, this is not your fault,” Nasir hisses, seeing Gannicus and Sibyl returning with the food and crossing the lawn as they head towards them. As they get closer and begin to eye Agron warily like they are Nasir’s own personal bodyguards or something.  “Guys? This is Agron. Agron, this is Gannicus and his girlfriend Sibyl. They’re my best friends.”  Agron, whose eyes have glazed over a bit with horror, turns and goes through the motions of shaking their hands and saying hello, and then continues staring out into space.  “Agron,” Nasir says quietly, leaning forward and taking hold of Agron’s hand. “Hey. This is not your fault, man.”

Gannicus and Sibyl quickly figure out what they are talking about, so they sit off to the side staying out of it and pass Nasir some of the food. They all start to eat, and no one says anything for a few minutes, looking back and forth at each other, except for Agron who looks zoned out.

Sibyl told Gannicus, as usual, what Nasir had told her on the phone the night before, about how Nasir and Agron had kissed at rehearsal, and about Nasir’s feelings for the other man, so they both cannot help but look Agron over and at least be glad that he seems to feel as badly as they do about whatever he has figured out about what happened to Nasir. Sibyl also notes that Agron’s almost as pretty as Nasir said he was, and understands with a little ache for Nasir the reasons for her friend’s crush.

When Agron slowly collects himself, coming out of his fog of memories, new fears, and harsh, familiar blame, he starts to feel like he is intruding, but needs to assure himself of a few things before he leaves. Not knowing how much Nasir’s friends are aware of, he asks Nasir under his breath, “Do you have somewhere safe to go? Please tell me you’re not going back there.”

Gannicus speaks up, having overheard enough to get the gist of their conversation. “He’s staying with us. We’re not letting him go back, are we?” he says to Sibyl.

Nasir shoots Gannicus a look, not liking the fact that they all are trying to make his decisions for him, and says, “I can handle it, Gannicus. This is between me and Glaber. I appreciate you helping me out this morning, I really do, but I don’t need you deciding things for me like I’m a child.” Turning back to Agron, Nasir says, “I’m good. Don’t worry about me. I have options.”

“And are you…are you okay?” he asks softly, biting at his lip as he gets a bright, horrifying flash of an image, a hellish, haunting thing drawn out of countless nightmares and far-too-real, distant memory. He pushes it back, forcing himself back to the present, and places his hand unconsciously on top of Nasir’s, brushing his thumb across the warm skin.  Nasir nods, focusing completely on the simple touch.  “Can I call you later?” Agron asks. “I have to get to class right now, but…”

“Yeah. I’d like that,” Nasir smiles. “You still have my number?”

“Yep. Do you have mine? Because I want you to call me if you need to…if I can help or do something…” Agron offers.

“I’ve got it,” Nasir assures him, not wanting to admit that he’d memorized it about two seconds after Agron wrote it on his hand.

“Okay. Um…it was nice meeting you,” he tells Gannicus and Sibyl, standing up and brushing off his pants.

“You too, Agron. Later,” Gannicus answers as Agron spares one meaningful look back at Nasir before walking away.

~*~

After his morning class, Agron heads back to his apartment and flops down onto the couch, just staring at his phone and wondering if he should call Nasir and check on him. He cannot stop seeing the marks on Nasir’s face and wrists, the evasive look in his eyes when Agron had been asking about what Glaber had done. Agron does not even want to allow himself to imagine what may have happened because of what he did, but of course, his brain keeps supplying him with alarming and sickening suggestions anyway. Wondering why Nasir would stand for such mistreatment, why he would not get himself out of that situation before it got to that point, to that level of abuse. Agron feels more and more helpless, and he hates it.  He needs to do something, anything. The phone tempts him, but he does not quite know what to say to Nasir. He has only known him for a few days, and had spent very little time with him. Hell, Agron does not even know him well enough to call him a friend, but he feels responsible for the pain Nasir is going through.  He has always been affected him most deeply by this type of thing, at least since Duro…

Agron tells himself that must be the reason, his old, familiar psychological hang-ups. That must be why he cannot stop thinking about Nasir - the way he looked the previous night when they had rehearsed, the way Nasir had touched him and reacted to him. It haunts Agron, the feel of skin against skin, soft kisses and murmured sounds, but he blocks it out, or at least tries to, chalking it up to a rehearsal gone weird, an overly-emotional script influencing two people under a fair amount of stress, causing them to behave irrationally. It makes sense to him, and he starts to consider talking to Lucius, to suggest that they both be reassigned to different plays. There is no reason why Nasir should be made to take part in something that hits so close to home.

And Agron feels like he would be better off, probably, too. Even the thought of having to perform that first scene again in its entirety makes his chest tighten and his head spin. His mind supplies him with a vivid memory of what it felt like when Nasir had slipped his tongue between his parted lips, dipping inside to taste him and feel him. It was almost ferocious how Nasir had devoured Agron’s mouth, how helpless Agron had felt neither thinking nor wanting to push the other man away, or how amazing it had been.

He scrolls through his list of contacts, finding Nasir’s number. His thumb hovers over the send button, but then he remembers the particular way that Nasir had said he was beautiful.  He sets the phone down on the coffee table and hides his face behind a pillow instead and screams in frustration.

The front door opens with a rattle of keys and a rustle as Donar walks inside and sheds his coat and bag, letting them all fall in a messy heap.  “What’s going on with you?” Donar asks when Agron does not come out from behind the pillow.

“Nothing. Leave me alone,” comes his muffled response.

“Oh, now you know I’m not going to leave you alone. That means there’s something good you’re not telling me,” he grins, coming over to sit next to where Agron is sprawled out.

“Trust me. It’s not good. Not by any definition.” He pulls the pillow away, and Donar is alarmed to see how upset Agron looks. “I fucked up, Donar,” he says quietly, lifting his eyes to the ceiling.

“What happened?” he asks, concerned.  Agron takes a deep, unsteady breath and wraps his arms around his chest.  “Agron, you can tell me anything, man. You know that.”

“Nasir,” he says simply, not knowing how to explain.

“Okay…what about Nasir?” Donar prods.

“God, why does he get to me so much? He’s just some guy. Some weird, little man, who does these ridiculously amazing paintings, and wears stupid eye makeup, and has too many fucking piercings, and who kisses really, really well.”

“Agron…is that what this is about? Your kiss at rehearsal? Is that what’s freaking you out? That you didn’t hate the kiss?” Donar asks.   

“Yeah…partly. Not exactly. Look, Donar, you’re not allowed to judge me if I talk to you about this,” Agron warns.

“Okay,” Donar frowns, seeing the phone on the table and picking it up. “You were gonna call him weren’t you?”

“Yeah. It’s a long story, but the gist of it is that I kissed him. And he kissed me back,” Agron tries to explain. 

“I thought you were supposed to kiss him?” Donar shakes his head in confusion trying to follow the conversation. 

“No. You don’t understand. I fucking kissed him. And,” he blushes, “I found another piercing.”

“Oh.” Donar smirks and then asks, “Why?”

“Why what? Why does he have a piercing?” Agron stares at him with his face scrunched up.

“Why did you kiss him?” Donar says rolling his eyes. 

“He looked like he needed it!” Agron explains in exasperation.

“He looked like he needed to be kissed?” Donar asks him slowly like he is talking to a five-year-old. 

Agron blinks at him, feeling a bit of déjà vu. “Yes!” he yells. “He was upset and he was looking at me funny…and, and” Agron slouches in defeat. 

“So you kissed him?” Donar concludes with a nod.

“I don’t know! Yes. But that’s not why I’m freaking out,” Agron says. 

“It’s not?”  Donar says scrunching his face in confusion. 

“Well, no, not the only reason. I don’t know the whole story, but when I saw Nasir on campus today, he had a black eye and some very specific types of scrapes on his wrists. He admitted that it was Glaber. That Glaber is hurting him. He’d fucking handcuffed Nasir and did god-knows-what to him after he got home last night, and it had something to do with me kissing Nasir,” Agron guiltily.

“Who’s Glaber?” Donar asks in exasperation. 

“Nasir’s boyfriend. He’s a cop.  He’s apparently a sick fuckin’ bastard,” Agron growls. 

“Agron…”, Donar says warily. 

“And it’s my fault. Nasir got fucked up, got hurt and abused because of me. Because of me! And I’m…I’m so damn worried about him, Donar. Nasir’s friends said that they were going to have Nasir stay with them, that they’d keep him safe, but I know guys like Glaber. They don’t let go, and they don’t like to lose something they think belongs to them,” Agron explains nervously cracking his knuckles absently. 

A look crosses Donar’s face, but Agron doesn’t catch it, he is too distracted by his own restless musings.  It is a look of complete sadness for his friend that is colored by thoughts of the past. He has been through this before with Agron. Words like ‘fault’ and ‘hurt’ and ‘worry’ are ones that he knows Agron is painfully familiar with. He wants to point out what he thinks is really going on here, but waits to see if Agron figures it out on his own first.

“You think Nasir’s going to go back to him don’t you?” Donar asks.

“I have no doubt in my mind. Donar, I barely know this guy. So why does it scare me so much that he’s in danger? It’s none of my business, right?” Agron questions his friend desperately. 

Donar chooses his words carefully before he responds, “Agron, you’ve never been able to stop yourself from wanting to fix things. You know that. Especially when people are in trouble. People that you feel responsible for. So why do you think Nasir’s any different?”

“But what do I do? I don’t even know where to start…” Agron slouches wearily back into the couch. 

“What’s your gut telling you to do?” Donar asks.

“Call Nasir,” he says instantly.  Donar reaches over and hands him the phone.  “Christ. Fine. Okay,” he sighs heavily, finding the number again and pressing send.  Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and holding his forehead with one hand, Agron does not shrug Donar’s hand away when he rests it on his back, showing his support.

“Hey, it’s Agron,” he says quietly. “Are you busy, or…oh…okay. I…I just…I can’t stop worrying about you, man… I know. You’ve said that, but I can’t help it. It is my fault…. Are you going to stay with your friends? With Gannicus and Sibyl?... Oh, well… I just want you to know that I think you deserve better than this, Nasir. You’re an incredible person and…um…hey…can I just…can I come and see you? Maybe we could grab a coffee or something? Please?...no, yeah, you’re right. The last thing I want to do is make things worse. Please take care of yourself, okay? And just maybe reconsider staying with Gannicus and Sibyl for one night. It seems like they’d do anything for you, man. They’re awesome friends. Please…yeah. I’ll see you at class on Monday, then... Okay… Bye.”  Agron drops the phone, letting it fall to the floor. It lands with a bounce on the worn carpeting as he covers his face with his hands.

“Aggie…” Donar says softly, running his hand over Agron’s back. “What can I do?”

“Nothing,” Agron says roughly.

“You can’t save everyone, you know. Some people don’t even want to be saved,”  Donar tells him.  Agron turns his head away, and grips hard at the cord around his neck.  Watching the movement, Donar sighs and says what he has been thinking since Agron first started talking.  “Is this about Nasir, or is this about Duro?” Donar asks gently.

“Screw you,” Agron growls, going from upset to angry in a heartbeat at the mention of his brother’s name.  He stands up and stomps to his room. “I know there’s a difference, Donar. I’m not a fucking idiot.”

“I know that!” Donar calls after him. “I just think you see him in other people. Especially people that you think got hurt because of you. It’s not your fault that you think that way, that you react like this. I don’t think you can even help it anymore.”

Collecting a small stack of books, Agron stuffs them in his bag and heads for the door.  “You’re not my shrink, Donar. I’ve had plenty of fucking psychoanalysis to last me a lifetime, and I certainly don’t need it from you!”

Pulling the door open, Agron stops when Donar says, “I’m sorry, Agron. I hate seeing you like this. I just wanted to help.”

“Yeah, well I’m not the one that needs it,” he says softly, pulling the door shut behind him, hard.

~*~

* * *

 [kew1]One of several translations for cat.  Nana is, as was referred in the last chapter, also a term for grandmother.  The point?  In my mind, this was a term of endearment Nasir’s grandmother used for him.  


	4. Chapter 4

~*~

“Has Nasir called you?” Sibyl asks when she meets up with Gannicus after their last class ends for the day. She tries Nasir’s cell again as she waits for Gannicus’ response. 

“No. He hasn’t,” he frowns. “He’s going back there, isn’t he?”

“To Glaber’s?  Aargh! He drives me crazy! Why would he go back there? No, don’t answer that. I know why he’d go back there,” she hangs up her phone when it goes straight to voicemail again.

“Should we go over there? Or call someone and tell them what’s going on?” he asks.

“Who? The cops?” she asks incredulously. “Yeah, I’m sure they’d just jump all over that one.”  She sighs, looking around helplessly trying to find her answer.  “No. He’ll call. Even if it’s just to say he’s not coming over.  He wouldn’t totally flake on us like that.  He knows how much we’d freak.  Let’s check his studio first, and then if he’s not there, we’ll go home and wait.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Gannicus sighs and they head towards the arts building.

~*~

Nasir turns his phone off when he sees Glaber’s truck approaching. It had been set to vibrate, just in case Glaber tried to get a hold of him. He was pretty much ignoring everyone else’s calls. He’d decided that he can’t just bail on Glaber, even after he’d hurt him. There was too much at stake, and he truly had loved Glaber once.  After being worn down from all of the mistreatment over the years, he just can’t anymore.  He knows Glaber does care for him, in his own way, but he just has a really fucked up way of showing it.

He is not ready to let Gannicus and Sibyl become responsible for him. The only income Nasir has comes from the paintings Lucretia sells for him at her gallery, which is far too little to get by on. Glaber has provided for all of his needs for so long, that Nasir feels that he owes him his loyalty even if he has some unique fetishes that he likes to indulge in.  Nasir feels it is a small price to pay in the long run in exchange for his future.  Besides, it is his decision to stay and allow Glaber to do these things to him. He is not a victim.  He is willing participant.  _Why can’t they just understand that?_  It is a big difference.

Nasir’s thoughts drift to Agron.  He seems so sweet and caring.  Nasir’s chest aches a little with emotion.  How can Agron be such an incredible person and be so exquisitely beautiful?  It would have made things so much easier if he was the asshole Nasir thought him to be in the beginning.  He buries all thoughts of Agron Martin deep down when the black truck pulls to a stop in front of him.

“Hey,” Glaber smiles brightly. “Hop in.  Let’s go grab some dinner.  Fried chicken or steak? I know you can never decide between them.”

“That’s because they’re both equally delicious when you cook them, ” Nasir grins, carefully easing himself into the cab after he throws down his sweatshirt to sit on.  The cuts and welts are healing, but it still stings when he sits or bends.

As Nasir closes the door and sets his bag down on the floor between his feet, Glaber sighs and says, “You know you didn’t have to go to class today. I might have been a little rough on you last night, that’s why I left out the pills this morning and shut off the alarm clock.”

Nasir blushes a little and scratches absentmindedly at some stray flecks of paint on his fingernails. “Yeah, I know. It was a pretty important class, though. We had a quiz in accounting and I didn’t want to miss it.”

“How are you doing? Feeling okay?” Glaber asks gently tucking a stray wisp of long dark hair behind Nasir’s ear affectionately. 

“Just stings a little, but nothing I can’t handle,” Nasir assures him vaguely. 

“Good. Good boy. Come on, let’s get you home. You can lie down and take it easy while I go get the food. Have you made a decision?” he asks.

“Yeah.  I think I want chicken,” Nasir grins over at Glaber, tentatively resting his hand on Glaber’s thigh. 

“Chicken it is,” Glaber proclaims as they pull away from the school.

~*~

After Glaber has gone to get the food, Nasir is stretched out on the couch with some extra pillows, the remote and his cell. He presses the mute button, silencing the television, and dials Sibyl.

“Hey,” he says guiltily. “I know you guys are probably pissed at me…”

“We’re not pissed at you, Nasir. We’re just concerned for your safety. You get that right?” Sibyl asks sympathetically.

“Yeah, I do. And I appreciate it. Really. But I’m good. Glaber’s out picking up some fried chicken, and I’m just lying on the couch, taking it easy.  See?  So it’s all good,“ he assures her

“Nasir,” she sighs heavily, wanting to keep arguing, but knowing that it will do no good. “Nothing I’m going to say is going to matter anyways.  This is something you need to want for yourself,” she says wistfully.  Nasir remains quiet as he bites his lip.  He knows they are just worried about him, but this is his decision, damn it. They have to respect that.  “We’re here if you need anything. And I do mean anything.”

“Okay. Thanks,” he says before adding, “Tell Gannicus I’m sorry to let him down. I’ll come by tomorrow and we can hang out.”

“That’d be great sweetie, but only if you’re up for it.  I love you Nasir,” she tells him quietly as she hangs up the phone. 

“Love you too, Sibyl,” Nasir replies softly to the dial tone.  He snaps the phone shut and settles back into the pillows.

A short time later, Glaber returns and cooks their dinner.  He comes out with Nasir’s portion and an opened beer. Nasir takes it gratefully and watches his boyfriend as he sits down on the coffee table in front of Nasir.  He takes a deep breathe, “I got a call from my sergeant. They’re having a convention out in Nevada that they want me to go to, a paid vacation type of thing. Pickup some training in new techniques and gear. I’d take you with me, but I know you’re right in the middle of all of your classes.”

“You’re going away?” Nasir asks, surprised, his brow creased as he looks up at Glaber through his thick eyelashes, putting his beer down on the end table with his plate of food. 

“Just for a week or two.  I’ll leave you with one of my credit cards so that you can buy food and whatever you need. With me gone, that leaves you without a way to get back and forth from school.  I don’t like you walking all the way to the bus stop, so if you want to stay with those friends of yours, Gannicus and Sibyl, it might not be a bad idea.  I know they live near campus so it will be easier for you to walk to your classes.  I want their address and cell phone numbers, so that I can reach them if I can’t get you on your phone.”

“Oh, okay. Are you sure?” Nasir asks, secretly hopeful. 

“Yeah. I don’t want to be worrying about you. And I’ll check in as often as I can. Just keep your phone on you, and keep it charged up,” Glaber advises. 

“Alright,” Nasir replies.

“Sorry, poti. I know it’s sudden. My flight is tomorrow afternoon, so I’ll be leaving here around lunchtime to head to the airport downtown.”  He takes Nasir’s hand in both of his, running his fingers over his tattoo just like Agron did at their first class. The comparison chills him a little but he pushes the thought away.

“I’ll be fine, Glaber. Don’t worry about me,” Nasir assures him with a small smile.

“Have you been working on any new pieces?  Lucretia’s been raving about the reaction to your latest series. I know she’d love to get her hands on some more,” Glaber asks, stroking his callused fingers up Nasir’s tattooed arm.

“Yeah. I’ve got a few. It’s been tough to find the time between class work and all, but there are a couple of portraits and landscapes she might like,” Nasir tells him.

“Great,” Glaber encourages.  “Make sure you eat before it gets cold now,” he tells Nasir, leaning down to kiss him roughly, just like everything seems to be with Glaber.  When they pull apart, Nasir squeezes Glaber’s hand appreciatively and smiles.  Glaber stands and goes to get his own food from the kitchen.  Nasir laughs inwardly at all of the fuss earlier in the day, feeling like maybe things will work out after all.  He settles in to eat his dinner.

~*~

Nasir says his goodbyes to Glaber and goes to Gannicus and Sibyl’s apartment the next afternoon.  He groans inwardly when he sees that they look ready to start arguing with him with concern tightening their faces as soon as he walks through the front door.  Nasir explains that Glaber has gone away on business and has given Nasir the okay to stay with them.  The tension lifts instantly.  “That’s great, man,’ Gannicus says. “Should we swing by your place later to get your stuff?”

“Yeah, thanks, maybe later. I threw the essentials in my backpack before I left. I should be good until tomorrow,” Nasir explains.  “If you guys have something else to do. I don’t want to impose.”

“Not at all. We weren’t doing much of anything, just trying to catch up with our insane amount of homework.  We both got slammed with four chapters by our professor to be covered by Monday. How about you? Don’t you have stuff to do for your classes?” Gannicus asks, as Sibyl settles back down on the couch with her Greek Mythology textbook on her lap, biting thoughtfully at the end of a pen as she reads through the page in front of her.

“Crap. Yeah actually. Do you mind if I call someone?” Nasir asks.

“Dude, call whoever you need. You don’t need to ask. Make yourself at home. Are you hungry at all?” Gannicus asks happily that their friend will have some peace for once. 

“Dude, I’m always hungry,” he laughs as he dials Agron’s number and Gannicus goes to scrounge up something from the fridge.  When the line is picked up, he cannot help the small smile that turns up the corners of his lips.  “Hey, Agron? It’s Nasir.  Um, how are you? Listen, I was wondering if--what’re you doing later?” Nasir asks, sinking down into the overstuffed chair in the small living room and shyly biting his lip.

~*~

Agron answers the door as soon as he hears the knock.  He jumps out of his seat on the couch and yanks it open. He could not get Nasir out of his mind since he had talked to him the day before, especially after he found out that Nasir was planning on going home that night. He had been so worried about him, even though he knew it was none of his business. He is determined not to let Nasir know how much he has been concerned for his safety.  He is all too aware that most of his fears stem from his own issues and the lingering trauma about his brother.  “Nasir. Hi, come on in,” he says, stepping aside and rubbing at the back of his neck restlessly as he waves him inside.

Nasir walks through the doorway and glances around at the small, but nice apartment, well nicer than Gannicus and Sibyl’s anyways.  Nasir assumes Agron and Donar come from wealthier families.  “Thanks for being cool about having rehearsal here,” Nasir says, pulling off his coat and draping it neatly over a chair in the kitchen.

“Oh, no problem, man. It is my apartment, so it’s really not an issue. Donar’s probably going to be gone until late with the football game and the team usually goes out to get drunk afterwards. At least if they win they do so…” he trails off, trying not to stare, checking Nasir as discretely as possible anyway for any visible signs of further injuries.

Nasir is not so easily fooled.  He sees Agron’s wandering gaze and calls him on it.  “Agron, I’m okay.  Yesterday was a bad.  That’s all.  Everything’s fine now,” he assures him.

“You went back to him, didn’t you?” Agron says quietly, trying really hard to mask the concern in his voice.

“Yeah, I went home. Of course I went home, but nothing happened. I had a really great night just sprawled on the couch being lazy, eating fried chicken and watching TV.  I’m feeling much better, back to normal. So...,” Nasir prompts, “Ready to rehearse?”

Agron pauses.  He does not want to start accusing Nasir of being blind to his own predicament, especially since they have this assignment that is too close to his own situation.  Nasir seems way too intelligent not to be able to see the inherent danger of his predicament.  Once he feels confident that he will not start ranting and raving, he says calmly, “I don’t know if we should, Nasir. I don’t want to be the reason you may get hurt. Maybe we should tell Lucius that we need to work on a different play.”

“Why? I think our play is amazing. It’s really powerful, and I think we’re gonna do a great job with it.  I won’t get hurt because of this, man.  No matter what happens. I swear,” Nasir assures him. 

“But,” Agron says biting his lip and nervously rubbing the back of his neck again. 

Nasir steps closer and looks up at Agron and says, “Not that this should matter, but Glaber went away on a business trip for a little while. He’s not around, and I’m staying with Gannicus and Sibyl.”

“Really?” Agron says profoundly relieved.  He barely manages to hide the huge grin that is threatening to spread across his face.  His eyes twinkle and shine as the smile reaches his eyes. He gazes down at Nasir with those brilliant soft green eyes, framed by dark, curling lashes.  He is clearly comforted as he smiles brightly.  _Damned dimples_.

Nasir’s heart aches at Agron’s reaction and the other man’s apparent irrational feelings of responsibility.  He is positively itching to touch Agron, to pull him close, wrap him in tight and try to convince him that everything going to be okay.  “Yeah,” he says softly smiling shyly up at him.  “We really do need to rehearse the first scene,” he continues biting his lip and watching their feet when he tells him with a blush as he looks back up at him, “in its entirety.”

Agron’s happiness drains from his face and Nasir can see him running the script through his mind, envisioning what the stage directions tell them what they need to do in scene one. 

Nasir continues, “We’ve talked about this. It’s just acting. And it’s for our class. We both need the credits. I get that you haven’t been with a guy, Agron, and that it’s probably pretty weird for you to do this, but it’s okay to just let it happen.”  Agron just shoves his hands deep down into the pockets of his designer jeans with their strategically placed rips and tears.  “Be Rick,” Nasir tells him. “Not Agron. And I’ll be Jesse.  Lucius’ going to have us do this in class this week, so we have to rehearse it. That’s why I called. We have to be able to get through this scene alone first, before we do it in front of everyone.”

Agron balks a little, his mouth is hanging open and he sputters, “He’s going to have us do scene one in class? It’s the hardest scene!”

“No, it’s not. It’s just one of the most physical scenes. All you have to do is act like we’re about to fuck,” Nasir says matter-of-factly.

Nasir’s directness makes him blink, and as a blush starts to spread across Agron’s cheeks and down his neck, “Oh, is that all? Well, gosh, what the heck was I so nervous about?”

Trying not to notice how adorable Agron looks when he blushes, Nasir attempts to remain professional and says, “Agron, Jesse is the bottom in their relationship.  Rick is the one in charge. Just be in charge, and I’ll react honestly to what you’re doing.  Don’t be embarrassed or hold back. Should we talk about our limits?” he asks.

“L-l-limits?” Agron asks, confused and slightly terrified as his eyes widen.

“Yeah,” Nasir says, “like I’m guessing crotch-grabbing is off-limits.”

Agron shifts his stance, and clears his throat, nodding tightly as he says, “Yes, that’s going to be off-limits.”

“But I might make it look like I’m touching your crotch, okay?” Nasir says. 

Laughing nervously, and feeling totally out of his element.  He wonders when exactly tripped down this particular rabbit hole.  Agron replies, “Uh,  yeah, okay.”

“Anything else off-limits? Can I grab your ass? Touch your nipples?” Nasir asks raising his eyebrows in a question.

_How the hell can he ask that with such a straight face?_ Agron groans and curses quietly to himself, “Shit.”

“Well, can I? If you’re not comfortable then say so. It’s okay. This is all about your comfort levels,” Nasir explains coolly. 

Agron feels like he is being challenged a little and is getting tired of being seen as the uptight, bashful schoolgirl, even though he totally is right now. Agron sets his jaw and says, “I can deal with it.”

“Alright then.  So is that it?” Nasir asks. 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Agron mumbles. 

“And don’t be embarrassed if you get...aroused,” Nasir adds, glancing quickly downwards at Agron’s groin before he can stop himself.

He snorts and sighs, “Oh my god!  Yeah, okay.  I'll try, but I’m not making any promises.” He stops and thinks for a minute, “What’re your limits?”

“Oh,” Nasir says and pauses, “I don’t really have any I guess. Do whatever you want,” he says honestly.  Agron is at a loss for words for a second.  He swallows heavily and stares at Nasir.  He wonders if Nasir even realizes what he just said and how that applies to his current situation with Glaber.

“Oh, Jesus. I need a drink,” Agron mumbles walking over to the cupboard where he knows the whiskey is kept.

“No alcohol,” Nasir snaps. “I don’t want anything clouding our judgment. You ready?” he asks. 

“Now or never, I guess,” Agron mutters darkly. 

“And don’t forget,” Nasir offers, “try and look like you’re enjoying yourself. This is Jesse’s fantasy.  Rick’s being loving and attentive as well as gentle.”

“Right.  Okay. Enjoy myself. Got it,” Agron nods, placing his hands on his hips.

“Maybe we should do this in the living room, and…maybe use the couch when...,” Nasir says, waving in the general direction of the sofa.  They both move into position. Agron stands by the sofa, and Nasir stands closer to the kitchen, preparing to make his entrance. They both take a moment to refresh their memories and get into character. 

Nasir turns and moves forward, he starts to explain in Jesse’s slightly more submissive and plaintive tone of voice, “Hey, I got stuck in traffic on forty-ninth street. Big car accident. I’m so sorry I’m late, but I’m going to make it up to you, and cook your favorite tonight. That tuna casserole that…”  Nasir takes the three or four steps towards Agron as he speaks and Agron pulls him in, holding gently to his upper arms as he tilts his head to the side and leans in, kissing him softly but urgently.

Agron feels it all the way down to his toes.  He does as Nasir told him to do and he gives into the character.  He loops his arms around Nasir’s waist and grips tightly to the back of his baggy black T-shirt.  Agron breaks away slightly and brushes a hand against the side of Nasir’s face, saying, “I love you.  I missed you so much today.”

“So, you’re not mad?” Nasir asks, searching Agron’s face, knowing that Jesse would fear reprisal for the crime of being late.

“Of course not. Don’t be silly,” he scoffs, giving his voice the slightest hardedge, his eyes sparkling with meaning, just a hint of a threat simmering below the surface.  Thinking to himself that this is going much better this time, and it is a little less weird, Agron relaxes even more and completely lets go of his hesitancy. He leans down to Nasir and brushes his full lips lightly over Nasir’s.  He lifts a hand and grips the back of Nasir’s head, weaving his fingers through the tightly wound hair. 

Sighing a little, breathing in Agron’s air, Nasir’s fingers stroke over the other man’s cheek and then cup his jaw. Tilting Agron’s face down, he smiles up at him when he says, “God, you’re so beautiful.”

The next kiss seems natural, an extension of Jesse’s love for Rick, and his need for Rick’s love in return.  So when Agron finds himself parting his lips for Nasir, and their tongues first tease hesitantly at each other and then slide together as they kiss more deeply, tasting each other.  He is not even aware that Nasir’s moving him back towards the couch, or that his heart is beating a little faster. All can feel is the soft press of their lips, the heat of Nasir’s mouth when he licks inside, the feel of the tongue stud as Nasir presses it between Agron’s parted lips. Agron sucks on Nasir’s lips, and then forces his jaws open wider as he thrusts his tongue deeper into him with a soft moan.  Feeling warm, delicate hands on his bare skin, Agron looks down at Nasir curiously, who caresses over Agron’s taut stomach and then around his waist, under his shirt and up over his the muscles of his back.

Distracted, he tries to decide what Rick would be doing. Nasir gasps a little when Agron takes the bottom of his shirt in hand and lifts it, pulling it up, over his head, and lifting Nasir’s arms as he starts to tug off the article of clothing. But when the shirt gets tangled in Nasir’s arms, Agron keeps them trapped there, over his head and caught in the shirt. Pressing their hips together with his other hand palming Nasir’s ass, Agron gives the firm, rounded muscle a squeeze, sighing out a breath when he feels his cock twitch with need inside his jeans. Releasing his grip on Nasir’s behind, he runs his hand up over the dipping curve of his lower back, caresses up the side of his torso, and rubs over Nasir’s pierced nipple with the pad of his thumb.  Nasir hums and arches into the caress as Agron thumbs the silver loop leaning in, and keeping hold of Nasir’s arms.  He mouths over Nasir’s neck, breathing him in and tasting him. Finally, he pulls the shirt the rest of the way off.

Agron crosses his arms and, grabbing his own shirt, pulls it off with one swift movement.  Nasir gapes in surprise at the sight of Agron’s tight, defined muscles.  Nasir curses quietly to himself, his eyes half-lidded and dark. Agron hears it though, and smiles a little, as he lays himself down on the couch pulling Nasir down on top of him to rest between Agron’s parted legs.

Thinking briefly that they had not discussed when the scene should end, Agron is distracted as Nasir’s tongue flicks quick and light over his nipple, and his lips close down around it.  “Oh shit…” Agron moans, arching up into Nasir and gripping the messy knot of Nasir’s hair.  Nasir continues tonguing and sucking on the hard pebble as he reaches up and pulls the elastic from his hair.  The long dark waves fall out and cascade over Agron’s pale skin, dark and vibrant in stark contrast.  One of Nasir’s hands runs down the length of Agron’s body, and he grabs Agron’s outer leg, bringing it up and guiding it until he hooks it around him. Then he runs the hand back up, over Agron’s thigh, ass and navel. He pulls away from his nipple and moves back up to his lips to kiss him again.  Moaning through the feeling of Nasir’s tongue in his mouth, when Nasir’s hand rubs hard over his nipple, sending shivers of raw need deep into his belly, Agron starts to feel overwhelmed. He loses track of reality, of Jesse and Rick and the stupid play, and just feels Nasir’s hands on his body, doing things to him that are making his head spin and his dick harden almost painfully, and the fervent, needy way that they are kissing each other. His hands had been pressed to Nasir’s lower back, unmoving and just holding on for the ride, but now Agron slides them around to the front and strokes up his chest, tugging gently on Nasir’s nipple ring.

Nasir gasps into his mouth and when he suddenly thrusts his hips down almost involuntarily against Agron, he can feel how hard Agron’s cock is through his jeans as it presses and slides right next to his own.  Their eyes meet when Agron feels Nasir’s erection.  Agron moans a little at the sudden, amazing friction.  Nasir knows it is time to stop, that they are taking this far.  He is about to open his mouth to say so, when the hand at the back of his head pulls him in for another kiss, the leg wrapped around him squeezes tighter, drawing him in closer, and Agron tugs again at his nipple ring.  Nasir makes a soft noise, his thoughts fog over as he also becomes unsure of what is going on, but it feels too good.  He has wanted to do this with Agron ever since he first laid eyes on him.  Nasir decides to just let Agron say when they need to stop. He cannot help himself when he pushes down again, rocking his hips against the hardness tenting Agron’s jeans.

Agron moans loudly and bites at Nasir’s lip. When he thrusts his hips up, their cocks grinding together in just the right way, he uses a hand pressed to Nasir’s lower back and his leg over his upper thighs to keep him there. Agron thrusts up again and again, his pace steadily increasing and Nasir’s eyes go wide as he realizes what’s happening.  They are dry humping on Agron’s couch.  Alarms are going off in his mind, but his body just does not care.  He rocks down into Agron, each dragging press and slide eliciting soft moans from each of them.

“We should…we should stop…” Nasir breathes, and rests his head beside Agron’s. He turns to face him and licks over the shell of Agron’s ear, nips at his earlobe even as he keeps undulating down against him, but then Agron’s hands are on his ass, and squeezing lightly as he bucks up into him in a desperately needful way. Nasir hisses a little, since the flesh of his backside is still tender, but he ignores it.

“No, don’t…don’t stop…,” Agron pants, his eyes fluttering closed and whimpering a little as he thrusts faster and harder. “Nasir…,” he begs. “Oh fu--oh God…mmm…”

“Agron,” Nasir moans, breathing hot and heavy against his neck and loses control completely. He takes hold of one of Agron’s hands, twining their fingers together and pressing it down beside Agron’s head. Worrying Agron’s bottom lip between his teeth, Nasir grinds down purposefully against Agron’s cock.

“Oh god…” Agron pants, and Nasir can feel him trying to push up into him, hard and rough, as his orgasm gets closer.  He kisses at Agron’s full lips drinking in his small desperate sounds.

Nasir asks softly, “Are you gonna come?”

Holding on tighter still, Agron moans, “Yeah…fuck…uungh…”

“Come for me, Agron,” he pants.  “I wanna, I wanna see…”

“Nasir,” he whines, his lips parting softly and his breathing choking off as he climaxes, shuddering, and bucking up hard into Nasir.  The sight of Agron’s orgasm, the particular way that his brow creases and his upper lip curls back slightly, the quiet whimpers he makes through the aftershocks as Nasir keeps fucking himself down into him, sends Nasir’s own orgasm ripping through him too after a few more hard pushes.  He groans loudly, almost in surprise as he comes in his pants, and lets Agron’s hand in his hair pull him down against him as they both catch their breath.

They stay like that, wrapped in each other, for a long time. Nasir’s almost too afraid to speak or move as the realization of what they did hits him hard, not knowing if Agron’s going to freak out.  A few times, he thinks about just getting up, but Agron’s tight grip on him convinces him to stay where he is.  When Agron finally does speak, he says the last thing in the world that Nasir expects, “Where’s number six?” 

Nasir shifts, arching his back as his props himself up on his arms and looks down at Agron.  “What?” he laughs, the dark waves of his hair creating a curtain between them and the world. 

“You said you have six piercings. Where’s the last one? Since, you know, I’ve found five,” Agron smirks up at him and flicks his nipple ring.

“Mmm,” Nasir hums, taking a shaky breath. “Easy, they’re…sensitive.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured that out. Nasir, tell me you don’t have your…you know…” Agron says, glancing downwards to where their bodies are still pressed together.

Nasir grins a little bashfully and says, “It’s called a Prince Albert.”

“No fucking way!  That’s number six,” Agron gapes in amazement.  “How the fuck could you pierce your dick?”

“It didn’t hurt much at all, really.  Pain’s not really an issue for me, anyway.  Plus, it just feels really fantastic now. Makes the whole area even more sensitive, just like with the nipple ring,” he says.  He looks down at their position on the couch, feels the sticky wetness in his pants, and says, “Um…I think I should go and get cleaned up and …yeah.”

“You don’t have to...get up, I mean,” Agron says quietly.

“What’re we doing?” Nasir asks sadly.

“Coming in our pants?” Agron offers lightly.

Nasir rolls his eyes and says, “You know what I mean. What is this? Is it another fluke? Did we just get carried away again? What the hell are we doing Agron?” he asks nervously.

“I didn’t really think about it. I just stopped holding back and did what felt right,” Agron says stroking his fingers over the detailed swirls of Nasir’s arm tattoo.

“But we weren’t supposed to actually fuck,” Nasir sighs. “The point is to stop before we do. I mean, I know there’s no director here to yell cut or lighting cue that the scene is over, but we’re just supposed to be acting. It’s not supposed to be real,” he says. 

“Was it real?” Agron asks softly staring up at Nasir.  Nasir shivers at the hope in such an innocent question.  He squirms under the feather light touches Agron is still making against his tattooed arm.  That area turned sensitive too after he finally had it completed.    

“Oh, it was real.  God, it was too fucking real,” he breathes, cupping the side of Agron’s face.  When Agron turns into the touch, it almost scares Nasir, and he quickly gets up, standing and taking a step back from the couch.  He licks over his kiss-swollen lips and rakes a hand through his tangled hair, knowing that he probably looks completely fucked out just like Agron’s does.  The color is high on his cheeks, and his reddened lips, the sheen of sweat on his bare chest and the faint wet patch staining his jeans.  Swallowing a moan, he asks huskily, “Where’s your…um, bathroom?”

“Down the hall on the left,” Agron motions, looking more concerned for Nasir’s panicked reaction.  This only makes Nasir panic even more. “There’s a stack of clean pants on my bureau, in the room to the right of the bathroom, if you want to borrow a pair. My sweatpants might fit you if you roll them up,” Agron says. 

“Thanks,” Nasir mutters in response.  He finds the bathroom, and the sweatpants, trying not to snoop in Agron’s bedroom in the process. He takes his time cleaning up, replaying what happened repeatedly in his mind still trying to make sense of it.

When he finally emerges and returns to the living room, he sees that Agron has changed as well, and is back to looking normal again when Agron says is, “So should we pick it up with scene two?”

Nasir just looks at him like he has lost his mind, so Agron asks, “What?”

“Why didn’t you let me stop? I was gonna stop and you said no, don’t stop. Why did you do that?” Nasir panics. 

“Nasir, I wasn’t exactly thinking with the big head,” Agron blushes and laughs nervously.  “You can’t go around getting someone that worked up and then stop, man.  Not cool.”

“Why were you that worked up?” Nasir asks in confusion.

“I don’t know. Hmm, let’s see.  It felt good? It felt really good?  Fucking amazing even.  Are you gonna keep freaking out or can we get on with our rehearsal?  We have to find a way to get through this, man,” Agron states trying to be nonchalant. 

“Seriously?” Nasir squeaks.

“Yeah, seriously. And stop looking at me like that,” Agron snaps.

“Like what?” Nasir demands. 

“Like you’re studying me, or analyzing me. You’re thinking too much. It’s not that big of a deal, right?” Agron asks. 

“It’s not a big deal that we dry humped on your couch until we came in our pants?” Nasir asks incredulously.

“You really like repeating what I say as a question, don’t you?  Could you please stop doing that?  It’s really annoying,” Agron says. 

“I just refuse to believe that it’s not that big of a deal to you, Agron. You’re not gay. We just groped and grinded on each other, not to mention the kissing. Because there was some serious kissing, and -“ Nasir dazes out for a second licking his lips where he can still taste Agron.  “Are you in denial or something?” he asks out of the blue. 

Agron stomps over to Nasir.  His arms are crossed over his chest, and he stares at the floor, “Okay, fine. Yes, I’m aware that things went a little far, alright? But it didn’t feel wrong. It’s like when I kissed you at your studio. I didn’t think, I just acted on my feelings. And maybe I should think more about things before I do them. But I didn’t, and it felt amazing, and I didn’t want you to stop, and I didn’t want you to get up when we both came and we were just lying there together. I don’t understand it, and I haven’t dissected the reasons behind it, because I’ve fucking had it with analyzing this shit. And just for the record, I never actually said that I’m completely straight. What I said was that I’d never been with a guy before. There’s a big difference. Look, I get that what just happened is worrying you, because of what happened to you last time. And maybe your guilt about the kiss is what brought on Glaber’s treatment of you or maybe it didn’t. I don’t know, but if you are going to suffer because of this or if you don’t want these things to happen, then you should stop when you feel like it’s time to stop. Don’t kiss me back. Don’t keep going. Just stop,” Agron finishes forcefully.

“I didn’t wanna stop,” Nasir confesses quietly.  “I mean, yeah, the alarms were going off in my mind, but I wanted it too. You’re right. It did feel amazing. It felt so fucking surreal kissing you and touching you and to feel you--to see you fall apart like that…” Nasir takes a shaky breath and says, “But I can’t do this…I just…It doesn’t matter what I want…I can’t. It’s not an option for me.”

Agron stares at Nasir.  There is so much meaning and so many questions in it that simple look that Nasir cannot say any more.  He cannot confess the depth of his attraction to Agron or the frighteningly real feelings he is developing for him, despite the reality of his life with Glaber and the fear of punishment and reprisal. For Nasir it would be crossing a line and going to a place he could never come back from, so he does not say anything else.  “So, are you bi?” Nasir asks distractedly after a moment, recalling what Agron had said.

Agron just rolls his eyes at him, “If you can’t do this, then it doesn’t matter, does it,” he snaps.

Nasir sighs, “Okay. Let’s do the next scene. I want to be ready for class,” and quietly goes to get his script.

~*~

 


	5. Chapter 5

~*~ 

Agron and Nasir get through the rehearsal of the second scene of the play without any problem, mostly because all they can focus on are the words of the script and their characters.  When it comes time to move on to scene three, Nasir feels like they should discuss it first, before starting, instead of just jumping into it. 

“Because Lucius hasn’t gone over stage combat techniques yet, I think we should just kind of imply what happens in this scene.  The last play I did had some violence in it, so I have done this kind of thing before, but I know this is new for you,” Nasir explains.  

“If you trust me, we can go with it,” Agron says softly, leaning against the kitchen counter. 

Nasir is quiet for a moment and takes a sip of the beer that Agron had given him. “I appreciate that Agron, but I think I want to take it easy for this one.  I, I guess give me a second to get ready…Jesse’s pretty upset in this scene, so…” 

“We don’t have to go overboard, you know,” Agron tells him.  He watches Nasir.  His worry is obvious when he asks, “Are you okay with this stuff, Nasir? This is pretty heavy shit, especially with…” 

He holds up a hand and sets aside the beer, saying, “I’m fine. Just let me know when you’re ready to start,” he tells him as he stands and heads over to the sink and starts washing some of the dirty dishes left over from lunch. 

Agron is sitting at the small table that he and Donar use more for doing homework than for eating.  He takes a last drink from his beer, finishing it before he says, in an accusatory way, “Why are you doing that?” 

Nasir had been washing the dish with his left hand, and holding it gingerly with his right, with it braced against the edge of the sink.  Lowering his head, Nasir says softly and meekly, “What? I’m…I’m not doing anything, baby. I’m just doing the dishes. See?” 

“You’re not holding the plate the right way. Why aren’t you using your right hand?” Agron demands.  

“No reason. It’s nothing. It’s fine. You know that it’s still healing from when I broke it…the accident with the car door when you closed it on my arm…,” Nasir says tentatively. 

Agron stands and walks over to him, hissing, “That wasn’t my fault. You were clumsy.” 

“I know. I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s my fault,” Nasir says, trying to smile like he thinks Jesse would be as he tries to charm away Rick’s anger.  Nasir looks up at Agron but the concern in his eyes is all Agron as they say the next two lines. 

“So, what the hell is wrong with you now?!” Agron yells. 

Nasir can see Agron getting upset already, and wants to just stop and hold him and tell him that it is okay, but he does not.  He lets Agron go as far as he wants to go.  Holding the plate in his left hand, he turns to Agron still favoring his right and says plaintively, stammering a little, “It’s just…it’s a little sore…from before…this morning…” 

Grabbing hold of Nasir’s right wrist, they watch as the plate falls with a clatter to the floor, imagining that it is china instead of a cheap plastic one.  They imagine it smashes into small broken shards that scatter across the linoleum. 

“Look at what you did!” Agron bellows.  He sees the tears start to fall down Nasir’s cheeks.  The steely look in his green eyes is asking Nasir if he should do what the script calls for.  Agron sees the response he is looking for and pulls back his tightly closed fist and swings, punching the air to the left of Nasir’s head, just as he snaps his head to the side like the blow connected.  When he turns back to face Nasir, his breath is hitching a little with his tears, and Agron reaches up, almost helpless to stop, and softly touches Nasir’s black eye.  Agron’s voice starts to thicken with emotion as he says the next line, gritting his teeth and blinking away the tears that are threatening to appear.  “You’re crying?!” trying to sound mean and incredulous, and only managing sadly heartbroken. “Come on, Jesse. Be a man. Don’t be…don’t be a…a pussy,” he spits out. 

Nasir’s face twists, and he bites hard at his bottom lip, trying to swallow back a small whine of pain. Trembling, he claps his hands over his mouth, and shuts his eyes against the world.  “Nasir?  What’s wrong?” Agron asks and wraps him in his arms, in a gentle hug. 

He buries his face gratefully in Agron’s chest, holding tightly with one hand cupping the back of Agron’s head, and the other curled around his back. Shaking with his tears, and cursing himself quietly, Nasir cannot bring himself to explain anything for a few long minutes, and just presses as close to Agron as he can get.  “It’s okay. I’m here. Just tell me what to do. Please,” Agron says quietly, hearing Nasir murmur almost inaudibly to himself things like how stupid and weak he is.   “You’re not stupid,” Agron argues. “Talk to me.” 

“I’m sorry. I thought it’d be fine, that I could do it without letting it get to me. But I guess I failed. I’m always screwing everything up. It’s just…” Nasir whispers, trailing off. 

“Tell me. I’m not going to judge you, man. It’ll help to talk. It helps me to talk when shit gets me this upset. And I’ve had a lot of practice with upset,” Agron assures him. 

“It’s what Glaber calls me. Poti...it means pussy...pussycat,” Nasir murmurs fearfully against Agron’s neck, now damp from Nasir’s tears. He feels a little lighter, having gotten the words out, but also immediately wants to take them back. 

“Oh my god,” Agron groans resting his head on Nasir’s shoulder tightening his hold around the smaller man.  

“It started as just a nickname. My Nana used to call me poti ... ‘kitten.’  She’d say, ‘Oh, Nasir’s about as harmless as a little bitty kitten,’ and Glaber knew about that. So he started calling me poti, but he says it even more now, when he’s hurting me…stuff like, ‘Come on poti, you can take it,’ and ‘you scream so good for me, poti,’ but it’s just a word, right?  It doesn’t mean anything, right?” 

“Jesus Christ, little man. No wonder you got upset! I’m so sorry,” Agron breathes, horrified, tightening his hold on Nasir again. 

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault,” Nasir responds, and pulls away, rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes. “Why does this stuff get you so upset, anyway? I appreciate the concern and all, but my issues are not your problem.” 

“I just don’t want anyone hurting you,” he says, folding his arms over his chest, but his eyes get a faraway, dark look, and his hand goes instinctively to his necklace. 

“I don’t think that’s entirely true. What aren’t you telling me? Did someone hurt you too?” Nasir asks a little fearfully, and his eyes wide. 

Agron laughs, a heartbreakingly bitter sound as his tears start falling again. His voice is wrecked and shattered when he finally says, “Oh, you have no idea,” in mocked self-loathing.  He sinks to the floor, crouched with his knees drawn up to his chest, and his arms hugged around himself. 

“Agron?  What happened? You’re scaring me,” Nasir says crouching next him gently placing a shaking hand on his knee.  

“It’s was a long time ago - a long story. My parents have spent a fortune on my psychiatry bills,” Agron explains.  He grabs hold of his necklace and brings it to his lips, kissing it. Then he slowly turns it in his fingers, touching the bright silver of the small eagle, its wings spread as if in flight, and tells Nasir, “It was my brother’s.” 

“The necklace?” Nasir asks. 

“Yeah. My brother, Duro. He wore it all the time, said it reminded him that we all need to rise above things, just like an eagle,” he says smiling sadly.  

“He means a lot to you?” Nasir asks, but it is really more of a statement. 

“You don’t want to hear this. You really don’t. It happened a long time ago, and it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s not a nice story,” Agron warns from the kitchen floor. 

“If it makes you this upset then it does matter.  Come on, you know my sad story. You can tell me yours. But get off the floor first, dude. Sit down on the couch or something,” Nasir tells him, frowning. He struggles to pull Agron up, and guides him over to the couch. 

They sit together, with Agron perched on the edge of the cushion. He grabs a throw pillow and hugs it to his chest as he talks.  “My brother was gay. But he was a total jock, you know. Football player, popular, everyone loved him. Until he got this crush on one of his teammates, and the guy found out somehow. Then everyone started treating him differently. They were so fucking cruel to him. But he was so strong. He never seemed too bothered by it, just took it in stride and was true to himself. God, he was such an awesome brother.  He was my whole world,” Agron says lost in his thoughts.  Fearful of the way that Agron is talking about his brother in the past tense, Nasir puts a hand on Agron’s back and rubs when Agron pauses and hugs the pillow tighter. 

“He was eighteen. We were on the way back from a football game. I had taken Duro out for the day, watched the game and had tons of hot dogs and soda, and just had such a great time together. Just the two of us. But on the way home I had to pee, you know, from all the soda. We stopped at this random gas station, and I went to use the bathroom while Duro walked around in the aisles, waiting for me.  I started to hear screaming and angry voices from outside of the bathroom near the cash register of the gas station. And then a gun shot. I came out of the restroom and saw that there were these two guys in masks robbing the place. One of the guys saw me and freaked out. They shot at the door - at me - and missed. But Duro yelled. He yelled, ‘No!’ And it startled them, I guess. So one of them just turned and shot Duro in the head. They shot him right in the head, and he was gone. Just like that. I saw him die.  They shot him in the head and he was...he was just gone.”  Agron rocks himself back and forth on the edge of the couch, and Nasir just pulls him into a hug, stilling him and kissing his temple. 

“But almost as bad as that, as having to see that, and live through that, was after…some of the kids from his school were there and they said…they said, ‘Someone shot the fag,’ and laughed. They fucking laughed,” he spits.  Nasir’s heart goes cold, and he holds Agron to his chest more tightly, pressing another kiss to his hair.  “Even Donar doesn’t know that part,” Agron says softly, his eyes dry and dull as he loses himself in the memories. 

They hear the sound of the doorknob rattling and it swings open as Dona walks in, his bag slung over his shoulder.  “We lost,” he says, not looking up as he shuts the door and drops everything. “No after-party. Thought I’d just come back here and have a beer.  Saxa’s on her way over, too, and…”  He finally looks up and sees the two men on the sofa, recognizing the look on Agron’s face instantly. 

“What happened?” Donar asks, rushing over and crouching in front of his friend. “Agron? Hey!” he demands snapping his fingers in Agron’s face.  He turns to Nasir and asks, “He was talking about him, wasn’t he? He was talking about Duro.” 

Nasir nods, shifting his hold on Agron to move his hand to Agron’s shoulder instead of his chest in case he decides that he wants to pull away, which he does not. Agron stays seated clutching the pillow to his chest. 

“Why the hell do you do this to yourself?” Donar asks Agron. “You know what talking about this shit does to you. Did you make him talk about it?” he demands glaring at Nasir, his eyes hard and protective. 

“Stop,” Agron says angrily, sitting up and leaning back against the couch, but not moving away from Nasir. “Don’t you fucking talk to him like that. Nasir didn’t make me do anything. I wanted to tell him. He deserves to know.” 

“Well, you’re not talking about it anymore tonight. I mean it. It fucks you up, and I hate seeing you like this. So, knock it the fuck off,” he growls angrily. 

“Only if you stop being mean to Nasir,” Agron scowls. 

“I’m not being…” Donar sighs. “Fine. I’m sorry Nasir. I’m sorry for blaming you,” he says and then turns back to Agron, “Happy?” 

“A little. It’s not your job to take care of me dude. I can talk about whatever I want to,” Agron scowls petulantly. 

“Not when it messes you up and then I have to live with your sorry, depressed ass. Listen, Saxa and I were going to go out and grab something to eat. Why don’t you come with us? Nasir, you should come, too,” he offers. 

“I don’t know. We were rehearsing. And I’m kind of tired,” Agron says evasively. 

“No. You’re just going to sit here and sulk. You can’t fool me, man. You are coming out with us,” Donar insists grabbing his arm and starts pulling him up from the couch. 

“Do you see what I have to put up with?” Agron tells Nasir with a pout. “Will you come with us? I don’t want to go if you’re not going too.” 

“Sure,” Nasir smiles. “I’ll come too,” he says, with a small, mischievous twinkle in his eye that makes Agron blush when he realizes the double-entendre. 

“I’m going to go take my contacts out, and get my wallet.  Be right back,” he tells Nasir and Donar. 

“Okay. I’m going to give Gannicus and Sibyl a call to let them know where I’m at,” Nasir says, pulling out his phone as he watches Agron disappears into the bedroom, with Donar following closely behind. 

When they get to Agron’s room, and Donar closes the door over, saying, “Don’t you two seem cozy.” 

“Shut up,” Agron says, blushing even more, pulling out his contact case and saline solution.  He pops out the lenses and puts them away. 

“You know, you’re looking kinda guilty right now.  Oh and there is the fact that Nasir is wearing your pants,” he smirks knowingly at his friend.   

“Fuck,” he mutters.  “You are too damn observant for your own fucking good,” Agron says, closing the lens containers and sliding on his silver-framed glasses. 

“Well?” Donar prompts. 

“Uh-uh,” Agron says shaking his head. 

“What the hell happened in there? I thought you were rehearsing?” Donar pushes. 

“We were rehearsing. It was a very physical scene, as you’ll probably see this week in class,” Agron tries to explain, blatantly ignoring the heat of embarrassment rolling through him.  

“So why is he wearing your sweatpants? Where are his pants?” Donar asks not easily subdued.  

“How do you know they’re mine?” Agron demands tersely.  

“Because they are a _little bit_ too long for him,” Donar grins, adding, “And they’re not black.” 

“Fine. We kind of got a little carried away,” Agron mumbles. 

“What does that even mean?” Donar feigns ignorance.  

“More kissing. Shirtless heavy petting and humping until we both kind of came in our pants,” Agron explained quickly just to try to put an end to this conversation.  

“Holy shit!” Donar exclaims, shocked and gaping at Agron. 

“Shh!” Agron hisses and frowns at Donar while waving his hands for him to be quiet. 

“Agron! What the hell, man? So are you, like, gay now? I know you haven’t had a lot of girlfriends, but I thought you were just being, you know, picky,” he tries to reason.  

“Drop it, Donar,” Agron says sternly. “And don’t you dare say it. I know what you’re thinking. This is not about Duro. I’m not trying to be Duro. I’m just doing what feels right. And it feels right when I’m with him. So fuck off,” he snaps.  

“Are you still trying to save Nasir?” Donar persists quietly. 

“What do you think?” he says rhetorically. 

“I don’t think this is good for you. This isn’t going to help either one of you,” Donar warns sympathetically. 

“Let me handle it. Please? I’m a grown man. This is my decision,” Agron states firmly. 

“And what, exactly, did you decide?” Donar asks. 

Agron just frowns at him silently and opens the door, tucking his wallet into his jeans, and heads out into the living room just as Nasir ends his phone call.  “Ready?” he asks Nasir. 

“Yep,” Nasir grins. 

They hear a knock at the door, and Agron says, “That’s probably Saxa. Come on, Donar.”  Glancing between the two other men with a sigh, Donar nods.  They grab their coats and head out. 

~*~ 

They end up at a small, out-of-the-way sports bar, and order one of each kind of appetizer on the menu, which they all share and pick at. Agron is surprised to learn that Nasir, Donar and Saxa all have a number of classes together, besides the acting workshop, and he listens quietly to the three of them talk about the classes amongst themselves. When Nasir mentions his second major, painting, Agron jumps in and raves to them about how talented Nasir is, which only serves to make Nasir blush as he tries to downplay his work. 

Donar asks if Nasir ever shows his work in public, and Nasir tells them, “Yeah. Actually, this weekend I have to drop off some more paintings with this gallery owner that I’m friends with. Her name is Lucretia. She has this cool little place downtown. She’s been great to me, and sells my paintings in her gallery. It’s pretty much how I make money, since I don’t have time for a job,” he says, eating an egg roll. 

“That’s so great, Nasir, that you have someone helping you get your paintings out there,” Saxa smiles. “Hey, is that the place on the corner of North and Main?” 

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Nasir nods. 

“You know, I’ve been in there a few times. You’re not the one who does those landscapes and stuff, are you? And those really emotional portraits? You know, the ones that are usually in the displayed in the window?” 

Nasir rubs the back of his neck nervously, and squints a little with embarrassment. “Um…yeah. That’s probably me. I know the other people that show at Lucretia’s are usually into more abstract, impressionistic styles.” 

“Oh my god! I can’t believe it. I love your work, Nasir. I’ve been saving up to buy something, actually. There were a couple paintings of some street kids that was just so powerful, I had to have it,” she exclaims.  

“Thanks, Saxa,” he says, grinning. “That’s really cool of you to say.  I usually only hear reaction to my work from the people that in my class. I don’t go to the gallery except to talk with Lucretia and deliver new paintings; so yeah, thanks.  I think we need to talk about something else before I get even more embarrassed,” Nasir says.  

“Well, maybe you deserve it,” Agron smiles. “You should hear people’s reactions once in a while. You have a gift,” Agron praises earnestly. 

“Oh, stop it,” he smirks and playfully nudges Agron’s shoulder. 

“How’s the rehearsing coming with your group,” Agron asks Donar and Saxa, taking a bite of a chicken finger. 

They exchange a look, and Donar says, “Alright, I guess. It’s hard to get through more than a couple of scenes at a time, they’re just so emotional and difficult, you know? We haven’t managed to get through the whole play yet, but it’s really still only just a little over a week into class so we have time.” 

“Yeah,” Saxa agrees. “I’m supposed to get really upset in this one part, after Donar’s character says something really harsh to me, and we usually have to take a break afterwards. I didn’t realize this acting workshop was going to be so emotionally draining,” she says nibbling on a French fry.  

“Yeah,” Agron mutters dunking another chicken finger in his honey mustard dip, “We both know what you both mean.” 

“Oh yeah? Which part?” she asks, curiously reaching for another fry to dunk in her Ranch dressing.  

“Um, both? We haven’t gotten through the whole play either, and ours is pretty emotional, too. But it gets easier after doing it a few times, at least with the scenes we’ve done so far,” he shares vaguely. 

“Agron’s doing really great,” Nasir says. “I know he doesn’t have that much acting experience, but I’m really impressed with how much he gives the role, and how believable he is.” 

“Well, I know I can’t wait to see you guys do your play in class,” Donar smiles wickedly. 

Agron groans, “God, don’t remind me.” 

“Why are you so nervous?” Saxa asks. 

“I’m not nervous, really, it’s just…our play is kind of…physical…in parts. In good ways and bad ways. Not to mention the nudity.” 

“There’s nudity!” Saxa exclaims. 

“Will you keep it down please?! I think the whole fucking bar heard you!” Agron scowls testily. 

“So who’s getting naked?” she asks with a smirk. 

“I’m don’t wanna talk about it,” Agron grumbles.  Nasir smirks at the group.  Agron turns a bright shade of red, his head falls to the table, and he pulls his hoodie over his head.  Donar and Nasir exchange a look and cackle loudly. 

“So, how naked?” Saxa prods curiously. 

“I told you, I don’t wanna talk about it,” he grumbles angrily into the Formicaed table.  

~*~ 

“You didn’t have to walk me home, you know,” Nasir says as they near Gannicus and Sibyl’s apartment just off campus. 

“I know. But it’s a nice night for a walk. I kind of needed the air,” Agron says. 

After a moment, Nasir says hesitantly, “Um, I have a favor to ask.” 

“Okay,” Agron replies. 

“Well, you know how I said that I have to bring some paintings down to Lucretia’s gallery tomorrow?” Nasir explains.  Agron nods in reply.  “Well, I kind of need your permission to show one of them,” Nasir explains nervously. “It’s a portrait of you.” 

Agron stops and shivers a little as a cool breeze tickles at the back of his neck.  He adjusts his glasses and pushes them farther up on the bridge of his nose and asks, “You did a painting of me?” 

“Yeah. Is that okay? I’m really happy with how it turned out, and I know Lucretia would love it. But if you don’t want me to show it, then I won’t.  I should have asked your permission first,” he says guiltily.  “I’m sorry.” 

“No! No, I mean ... of course it’s okay. But…can I see it first?” Agron asks suddenly very nervous.  What will it look like?  How does Nasir see him?  

“Well, yeah. If you want to,” Nasir replies grudgingly.  

“Well duh!  Of course, I want to,” Agron smiles brightly.  

_Fucking dimples!_ Nasir thinks.  “Okay. Well, I’ll be in my studio working for most of the day tomorrow. I was going to head down to Lucretia’s after she closes for the day. She closes a little earlier on Sundays. Just give me a call when you’re coming over.” 

“You only want me to call first so you can put your shirt back on before I get there?” he teases cheekily. 

Nasir laughs, “Dude, you’ve already played with my nipples.  There’s no reason for me to be bashful anymore.” 

“Yeah, well, um…,” Agron clears his throat and rubs the back of his neck, “I’ll bring your pants with me.  I’ve got laundry to do tomorrow anyways.” 

“Thanks, yea-yeah,” Nasir stutters, “I’ll wash these and have them for you too.” After another minute of kicking at the loose rocks in the road as they walk, Nasir says, “Thank you for telling me about your brother. It means a lot that you felt you could trust me with that. And I know what it’s like to lose family. My…um…my family was killed in a car accident when I was thirteen. My mom, my dad, my little sister and my older brother. Everybody--everybody but me.” 

Agron stops walking, his face nothing but pain as he looks up at Nasir and halts him as well with a hand on his arm. “Nasir…I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I don’t even know what to say, man. What happened to you after?” 

They continue walking and, as Agron’s hand slips down Nasir’s arm, Nasir takes it and holds on tightly. “I lived with my Nana, but she was pretty old and then got sick.  After that, there was just Glaber.” 

“Christ, you have some awesomely bad luck,” Agron mutters absently.  

“Well, maybe my luck’s turning around,” he grins sadly. “I had a nice time tonight. Your friends care a lot about you. I can tell. Thank you for asking me to come along,” he says.  Agron smiles brightly and squeezes his hand.  “This is me,” Nasir says, stopping in front of an old brick building. “Well, not me, but this is where I’m staying.” 

“Oh,” Agron says, as Nasir releases his hand and takes a step backwards towards the door. He instinctively grabs back Nasir’s hand, and runs his fingertip over the symbol tattooed there.  Saxa had asked about Nasir’s tattoos during dinner and he had explained this one was Maori for ‘luck.’ 

“Agron…thank you…” Nasir says almost fervently. “I don’t…I don’t know what this is…” he says, gesturing between them. “But whatever it is…I’m so, so thankful for it. I’m not used to people being…kind…to me,” he tries to explain.  

Agron looks up into Nasir’s deep brown eyes.  He wants to take away all of the sadness and torment he sees in them.  He can see what an amazing and beautiful person Nasir truly is, underneath all the sorrow, misfortune, and defensiveness.  “You don’t deserve any of what’s happened to you, Nasir,” he says quietly. 

“Neither do you,” Nasir responds. 

Both of them stare silently for a moment at Nasir hand, held gently in Agron’s.  “Nasir…I want to kiss you,” he says hesitantly.  Agron’s face twists with emotion. Nasir gasps in a small breath and looks off into the dark.  “Please?” Agron whispers desperately.  

“Agron…,” Nasir breathes.  

“I, I want it to not be a fluke. I want it to not be about the damn play. I want it to just be you and me,” he says, stepping closer, and placing a hand to the side of Nasir’s face. 

“I don’t know if I can,” Nasir says, closing his eyes nuzzling into the hesitant caress. 

“Why?” Agron asks, his brilliant green eyes searching Nasir’s face for answers.  

“Because if I start, I might not be able to stop. I want it so bad. I want you so fucking bad,” he admits, and flinches a little at the soft sound that Agron makes in response. “And Glaber…” 

“…Doesn’t deserve you. Anyone that could even think of hurting you does not deserve you,” spits out softly but darkly. 

“What’re you gonna do Agron?  Save me?” Nasir asks with a sad smile. 

“I’m going to try,” Agron states leaning forward closing the distance between them. 

Nasir does not respond, nor does he need to. He just closes the distance between them and pushes up into Agron’s kiss.  He twines his fingers back into the soft short hair at the nape of his neck to anchor himself.  It starts softly and almost sweetly, but gradually turns desperate and deep, and when Nasir breaks away, he looks as if his world his been turned upside down and backwards.  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Agron says, as Nasir turns and climbs the stairs.  He glances back a few times on the way to make sure his daydreams had not manifested out of pure need and wild hope. 

“Promise?” Nasir asks when he reaches the door. 

“Yeah,,” Agron responds with a hopeful smile.  

“Okay. Goodnight then,” Nasir replies before disappearing into the deep shadows, through the doorway and out of sight. 

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> My wonderful Bb has graciously allowed me to “play” with one of her stories. Go check out [ blynnk](http://blynnk.livejournal.com/)’s work and make sure to check out her published works as well. She is my writing inspiration, and I can only aspire to be a tenth as talented. I am so thankful she found her way into my life, as with all my Pink Ladies. I am truly blessed to call her friend and am so thankful for her encouragement and support to pursue my writing.


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